


Shadows and Scars

by breejah



Series: A Court of Wishes and Dreams (ACOTAR Fanfic Series) [4]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dystopia, Emotional Baggage, Espionage, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Masturbation, Mating Bond, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Rough Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2020-05-03 16:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 77,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19186282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breejah/pseuds/breejah
Summary: The Alchemists have been defeated and the Court of Night is once more restored to its former glory in Prythian, but not without costs to some of its highest leaders and silent victims. Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, learned that Jurian - human ally to the Night Court and Prythian as a whole - has gone missing in the Mortal Lands.By order of Rhysand, he is forced to take the one female who unravels him to his core, Astra Haavik - the sister of the recently deceased traitor to all of Illyria - to find out what became of the mortal and to see if they can unravel the mystery of what the Alchemists want from Prythian before it's too late.Rated E for violence, acts of war, sex, and past/implied non-con elements.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! The Azriel fic I promised! 
> 
> For those new to my 'AU universe' set in SJ Maas' ACOTAR world, I highly recommend reading the previous installments of this series before you begin this fic, otherwise you may be confused. A lot happened in my Nessian fic, 'Fire & Steel,' that sets up this one.
> 
> **Advanced Warning:** This is a **DARK** fic. It will be much darker than its predecessors. If you're not into dark work, I don't recommend reading or be prepared for triggering subject matter. This first chapter jumps into the deep end right away, so you've been warned.
> 
> **Side Note:** I created an updated map for the changes to Prythian as a whole based off where my fic series has made some changes to the demographics of the ACOTAR world. Find it [here.](https://i.ibb.co/6D3qY7k/Prythian-Map-ACOWAD-Fic-Series-2.jpg)

_"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." - Edgar Allen Poe_

* * *

 

**The Past, Outside of Loholt, Illyrian Warcamp bordering Velaris**

There were times, like now, that the darkness almost had a sense of peacefulness to it, once you got used to the quiet and solitude. Azriel sat, huddled in the corner of his cell, his ribbed spine and wilted misshapen wings pressing into the stone backing of the cramped space that used to be reserved for storing grains for winter. Now, it was no longer used for such things, harboring no rice but a boy - nameless, sightless, speechless, weak - who had learned long ago to accept the dark.

There were times he even imagined it talked to him.

It didn’t happen often, only on occasion and only when he was halfway between wakefulness and sleep, when his belly was caving in on itself from hunger and his brothers had purposely skipped feeding him. It had been too long to be claimed as a simple slip of the mind - no, they enjoyed making him starve, knowing when they brought the lantern light, he’d be too weak to stand and therefore, too weak to resist their beatings. They hated him, see - he was the result of one of his father’s trysts. The only person who hated him more than them was his stepmother. When the beatings happened, he often wondered why his father or stepmother didn’t just allow his brothers to kill him. It would certainly have been an easier, cleaner, quicker death than this.

_You are meant for more, boy,_ they whispered to the endless questions in his head. Why was he left to a slow, agonizing death? Why was he kept in the dark, hidden from all to see? Who was his mother? Sure, he knew her face - so like his own - but not _who_ she was, or why she wore such a look of guilt whenever she was allowed to visit him in this place. He didn’t bother to ask questions, didn’t bother to ask why he was subjected to such machinations from his family, knowing they’d never give him the answers he wanted, so he just learned to enjoy the quiet and solitude - and the shadows and their whispers, too.

Looking up, he saw his mother descend with his two half-brothers, a lantern in both their hands. His eyes sharpened on a blotch of redness slashed across one cheek - she’d been struck. Both his brothers gloated, telling them it was their doing, the welp that would most likely bruise. He said nothing, though, not expecting to get the truth - or getting too much of it, wanting to see him in pain as they described how they had hit her.

One of them motioned him forward, but he hesitated to comply. They were both drunk, he could smell it in the air - a familiar smell, bourbon - and he could tell they were in a tumultuous mood.

“Come here, you dumb mute fucker,” Horus sneered, the one on the right. His brother, Demeter, laughed alongside him, shoving his mother to her knees hard enough she gasped. “Unless you want us to hit her harder. Maybe see what’s so special about that quim of hers that got our father all twisted so he cheated on our mother.”

That was one thing he couldn’t handle, so he stepped forward like they asked. They were mean-spirited already, but the drink made them infinitely worse. When Horus motioned for him to put his hands outside the bars of his ‘room,’ he glanced at his mother, sensing her panic. Demeter reached for her skirts and she let out a scream that echoed off the stone walls of his home.

“Do it or he fucks her and makes you watch,” Horus sneered. Azriel swallowed, complying, watching Demeter not slow as he shoved his mother’s skirts up and roughly shoved her pantaloons down. His mother began to cry and he swiveled his gaze to his brother.

“I’ve done what you’ve asked,” he murmured, his voice soft and hoarse from misuse. He barely recognized it, he spoke so little. “Please let her go.”

“Did you hear that, Demeter? _‘Please let her go,’_ he said. Should we let her go?” Horus laughed, glancing back at his brother with the lamp. Demeter, on to other more interesting things, merely grunted as his hand found an area of his mother’s body that made her flinch and scream. Azriel didn’t know what they were doing, where they were touching her, but he knew that sound - a sound of pain. He’d made it many times when they were drunk and beat him.

“Please, stop,” he whispered, forcing his voice louder, raising his hands in supplication past the bars like they’d asked. “You’re hurting her. Please stop.”

“You know what I think, bastard seed? I think you need to be taught a lesson,” Horus chirped, his tone too excited for someone watching his brother debase a female, Azriel’s own mother. Azriel, for his part, was too busy staring in horror as Demeter shoved his mother’s knees open, then began to unfasten his pants.

Suddenly, hot oil hit his hands. He shrieked, it was so hot it _burned_ \- but then came the flames. A great multitude of them, burning so hot, his flesh seared and charred and turned black.

“If you pull them back, we’ll kill her,” his brother hissed, leaning down and holding his elbows tight.

Azriel did as he asked, even as the pain reached a level he couldn’t even describe. Finally, unconsciousness took over, but not before he watched both his brothers abuse his mother.

She never came back to the War Chief’s home after that, nor was he granted any light except in which to see her at a strange house once a week for a single hour. During those weeks, he missed the darkness. He was sure he was going mad, as it had finally begun to talk to him now, in full sentences he could understand, and it helped share the pain he was in after the fire ruined his hands.

_Patience,_ they said. _Your time will come._

So Azriel waited.

* * *

**Present Day,** **Four Months after the Defeat of the Insurgents,** **New Lofoten, Illyrian War Camp**

A knock at the front door had Astra pausing, glancing between the wood door to the front porch and the ball of dough she’d been kneading for the past few minutes, intending to finish and bake the bread for the week. She scowled, covered in flour, almost wanting to ignore the knock but remembered Nesta’s visit last week - that she could show up at any time as she was concerned about Astra’s lack of interest in rejoining society, not that she cared about what society thought of the traitorous scum that was Astra Haavik - but it was the thought of Nesta standing outside the door, concerned and coming to call on her, that had her answering it.

Standing there, half wrapped in shadows, was the one person she never wanted to see - Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court, part of Rhysand’s Inner Circle, and potentially so much more than that to her.

_He’s come for you._

_He won’t take no for an answer._

_Your mate has finally come to lay claim to you, to get you to join him on a mission to the Mortal Lands._

_He brings dire news, news you must accept, per order of the High Lord. Don’t think to say no, even though we know you want to._

She kept her features schooled completely blank - something _he_ had taught her how to do, in the way she’d observed him when she’d previously just been a training warrior and Chieftain Nesta Archeron’s burgeoning best friend. He simply stared back, his own expression blank despite the hawkish intensity of his eyes and frame, always poised like a coiled snake, ready to attack. It unnerved her, the level of intensity in which he watched her, but the longer she stared, the more she relaxed, realizing that whatever the shadows whispered to her, for some reason they hadn’t betrayed her and told Azriel what they told her. It seemed, for whatever nefarious purpose they served, they’d hidden from him that she could now do what he could, just on a lesser scale.

It had taken her months to get used to the sounds of the shadows whispering in her ears, even longer to get used to them curling around her when she slept. Luckily, they steered clear of her during wakefulness, but they still frightened her and made her wary. She didn’t know why they told her things, what they wanted in return, so she’d just ignored the words they had spoken up until now, and up until now most of what they shared had been frivolous tidbits of knowledge of the village she inhabited but never partook in.

Wary that he was here like they had said to force her out of her neatly regimented life, to journey somewhere she had no interest in going - at the High Lord’s command, no less - she merely gave him a cool cursory glance, then looked behind him, as if searching for someone else. No Nesta, no Cassian. He’d come alone.

“What do you want?” She asked, knowing she was being rude, but she hated being near him. He awakened something inside her, feeling her body heat just staring at him. She hated to think of all the late nights, when thoughts of his face and how his body had felt against hers when she’d still been stupidly naive that her brother wasn’t a monster, that her world - while not perfect - hadn’t been an illusion ready to implode at the slightest provocation, that she wouldn’t be able to look at her reflection in the mirror and not see elements of her brother, father - the people who’d destroyed her best friend’s mate’s family life. Whenever she looked at him, all that seemed to fade into the background, and she just _wanted_ him, so damn bad.

“Aren’t you going to let me in first?” He asked, his tone soft. She wasn’t fooled, though, knowing underneath that soft demeanor lay a male so primal, so used to the darkest tendencies that life had to offer, that it was mere control that kept him in check. Despite her best intentions, she felt a tremble skirt up her spine, watching his eyes focus on her face, then slide down her body. “We’ve much to catch up on. I’ve a mission for you. You’re coming with me.”

“I can’t,” she said, reaching for any excuse she could think of. _I won’t be alone with you,_ she thought, swallowing thickly as she felt his stare like a caress. _I don’t trust myself with you. You’re my mate and you frighten me._ Suddenly, she remembered what Nesta had offered her a few visits back. “Nesta has me on her council. So you see, I have a duty I need to get to, and I can’t possibly--”

“High Lord Rhyand has other plans, Nesta and the council can wait,” Azriel murmured, stepping forward, forcing Astra to back up hastily to avoid colliding with him. “Jurian has gone missing.”

Astra blinked, her eyebrows raising. Jurian was missing?

He’d been south, below in the Mortal Lands, trying to gather intelligence on the Alchemists and their plans for Prythian. Nesta had allowed it to slip during one of her visits, when Cassian was in deliberations at the High Lord Summits with Rhysand. She swallowed again, worried on behalf of the human that Lucien had grown close to when he had left Night a few months back, but once more shook her head in confusion. “What could I possibly do to help with his disappearance? As you can see, I haven’t left this cabin in months. I haven’t heard from any insurgents, nor been visited in the night by an Alchemist on the loose. I’ve nothing to offer you.”

“In that, you’re mistaken,” Azriel murmured, suddenly reaching up and running a leather-gloved hand down her cheek. She visibly recoiled from his touch, feeling the trace of his finger turn her core molten with need. _Mating urges,_ she hastily told herself, feeling a trickle of sweat gather between her breasts, under her gown. Azriel said nothing, his face as smooth as marble, and she hated how he seemed to composed on the outside, even as her own insides felt like they were seconds away from wilting and setting aflame. She could sense the bond, even now, hovering just out of reach  - like an itch she couldn’t scratch, not unless she embraced the bond fully with him, something she refused to do.

“You’re coming with me, to the Mortal Lands,” Azriel murmured, drawing her thoughts away from her body’s response to his own. She blinked, blanching, watching the faintest of smiles curl the edges of his lips. “Put away your dresses, pack your bags and ready your blades, Astra. Tomorrow, we’re heading into the Lion’s den. Be ready at dawn.”

And just like that, he was gone, only a fading swirl of shadows in his place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Elsewhere, Somewhere Along the Coast, Prythian**

Beasts trembled and fled as it stirred, stretching like a creature with upright features, slowly transforming into a man. It didn’t know where it was, exactly, only that it was alone - untethered and unbound for the first time in centuries. It had been so long since it had felt sunlight, or freedom, that it simply roamed, restless and yet eager to have nothing to do for the first time in a very long time - and it had a very vivid and deep memory of nearly everything that had occurred to it.

 _You need to find him again,_ its own consciousness - and those it had an affinity with - reminded it as it readied for the day and to feed. Not too far off was a herd of deer, sprawled out across a swath of meadow between breaks in the endless forest that the Spring Lord called his lands. So far, none had challenged him, not even the High Lord, too lost in the needs of his mate and their new pup, but it knew it didn’t have long before it needed to move to remain undiscovered. Since returning to power, the lands were well stocked with soldiers, and it was only here to wait for one person - _her_.

She’d been touched by its brother. She was the link connecting them, and it must make sure to find its brother before it achieved what creatures of their magnitude shouldn’t be able to. It thought it was the other that would aide it - the one they now called High Lady - but it had been wrong, it was _her_ that it needed. The marking on the High Lady wasn’t easily removed, but with patience and time, anything was possible. It needed it to be passed along to her, but only if she agreed of her own free will - and time was running short.

Growling, it stretched, then began its prowl towards the prey in the distance. As it moved, it thought of how best to approach her, bond with her, through shadows if it had to, though it was stronger in the realm of dreams. It had tried, each time it felt her breech the realm of dreams, but each time her resistance proved stronger than it thought, surprising it in how well she fought its hold.

 _Perhaps, if she knows you, she will be more approachable,_ its cousins offered out of the silence that swirled around it, shielding its form from mortal and immortal eyes alike. It had learned long ago that gazing upon its natural form caused madness.

_They call you...Bryaxis. Call her by your name and see if she will understand then what you offer. They know you by this name in her lands, or have your forgotten that already, weakened as you are without a host?_

It mulled over these words for a moment, but before too long, it was too focused on the promise of food in the distance, and the name was lost to it once more.

* * *

**New Lofoten, Illyrian War Camp, Astra’s Cabin**

She tried to sleep but it evaded her, the few times it had come close only promising nightmares and the shrieks of shadowed voices that spoke of things she could barely make out or understand. Shivering, she sat up, running a hand through her hair, glancing at the dying fire in the hearth of her fireplace, wondering how she was going to make it through a single night of this new task her High Lord had ordered her to do - with the one male she didn’t want to do it with. 

 _I can barely sleep through the night without having nightmares,_ she bitterly thought, drawing her knees up to her chest as she sighed, resting her cheek on her kneecaps, her fingers tightening in the loose sheets draped around her waist. _When I sleep, all I think about is…_

She refused to finish that train of thought, standing sharply and wandering out of her bedroom, barging through the closed door separating it from the darkened hallway that led into the living quarters and kitchens with unsteady feet and a bang of her wrist, swallowing down the memories of what it felt like to die at the hands of her mad brother.

 _The hopelessness you feel, in that moment - haunts me still._ She swiped a hand along her mouth, annoyed at how her fingers trembled as they clamped down on her skin to stifle the silent sobs that threatened to bubble past her lips, hurriedly making her way to the kitchen where she grappled with a candle and a flick of a whetstone and a sharp etch of flint, finally lighting the small room and casting the shadows to the edges of the walls.

Reaching for a kettle, she sighed and shook her head, scrubbing at her wild hair as she moved to make herself tea. Hearing a knock at the door had her glancing towards it with a frown, grabbing a kitchen blade as she made her way towards the cabin front with silent, steady feet.

Glancing out the window, she noted Nesta standing there - proud and regal, like the Chieftess she was - making her instantly relax and open the door, not quite able to form a smile, just giving her a simple nod of her head. “Nesta? Gods, do you have any idea what time it is? What are you doing here?”

Nesta turned, glancing over Astra’s form from where she hovered in the door, making her scowl when Nesta looked displeased at her disheveled state. “It’s the middle of the night, of course I look like shit,” she griped in her defense.

“Like the time of day or night has ever stopped you looking like trash these past four months,” Neta quipped, gesturing impatiently at the door. “Let me in, it’s cold as hell out here.”

Astra rolled her eyes but opened the door wider, allowing her friend inside. Stepping towards the kitchens, Nesta cast off her dark cloak and ruffled her hair, covered in bits of snowdrift from where she must have walked across camp to her cabin, a few short miles from her own that was located more in the center of camp. 

“I’m guessing you’re here to fill me in on the mission that Lord Rhysand ‘volunteered' me for, eh?” Astra asked with a faint grumble, padding past her in nothing but her sleep shirt and loose pantaloons, not caring that she looked like a beggar - dark hair wild, eyes sporting heavy dark under circles, mouth in a faint scowl. She still hadn’t forgiven her that Nesta hadn’t warned her - about the orders or the fact that Azriel was expected to show. She was too involved in the Inner Circle’s mechanics now to have overlooked such a thing. “Tea? Ginger or black?” She looked over her shoulder, dropping her eyes to Nesta’s lower abdomen, raising a questioning brow.

She hadn’t ever asked if her and Cassian were eager to start a family, now that things looked well for them both - Nesta a Chieftess of New Lofoten and Cassian still the ever-respected General of Illyria. Nesta scowled at her, narrowing her eyes and firmly placing her hands on her hips. “ _Black tea,”_ she emphasized. “We’re waiting. Feyre is…” She shrugged, watching Astra’s eyes widen as _that_ news registered to her ears, “...so you can imagine we’ve got enough to deal with as it is. Cassian and I aren’t in any hurry. We’re immortal, me newly so with freakish cauldron powers to boot, so children are so far down the line, it’s not even a topic for discussion right now.”

“Congratulations, I guess?” Astra queired, kicking up half her mouth into a semblance of a smile. Nesta and Feyre’s relationship had improved, from what Astra could tell, but Nesta still had her cold-edged mannerisms that others misinterpreted still. It was one of the things that endeared her to Astra, not that she’d ever tell her. She liked this sour-spoken female, since so often other women in their same circumstances failed to speak what was really on their minds.

“Ask me again once the babe is born, then I’ll let you know if it’s truly a congratulations or a ‘kill me now’ mentality,” Nesta muttered, making Astra chuckle for the first time in weeks. Shaking her head, she turned to the kettle that had begun to whistle and poured them both a brew of black - she needed to pack, soon, and Nesta would most likely use the next few hours to ready for whatever new meeting requirements her village required of her. She’d been a damn fine Chiieftess and Astra suddenly felt guilty for all but abandoning her, not even completing the meager duties Nesta had asked of her when she’d named her part of her council. She knew better than to fight the order once Azriel was here or Nesta mentioned it. He wasn’t exactly the type to take a refusal well, nor did she need her allegiance to the Night Court further speculated upon. She had an inkling her friend and her High Lord had specifically assigned her this case with the Spymaster to prove to her peers - and Illyria as a whole - that she was still loyal to them. 

“How’re you holding up? How is Cassian holding up?” She asked softly, coming to sit her cup at the plain table that served as her meal gathering place. Nesta slipped into a chair alongside her and sipped at the offered cup, glancing over Astra’s appearance with a frown. Astra ignored the cringe that fought to the surface, knowing what Nesta was thinking. Nesta looked _gorgeous,_ having always been one of the more beautiful of the Archeron sisters, and next to her Astra looked haggard and half-exhausted, but she didn’t want to talk about her own problems - even as much as it dismayed Nesta she continued to keep her at arms length. “You going to tell me or just stare at me?” Astra murmured, blowing on the top of her hot tea cup, waiting for Nesta to stop giving her a frustrated glare and to tell her of her home life and newly acquired mated status.

Nesta finally shook her head subtly, glancing down at her cup, knowing Astra was as stubborn as her when it mattered. They’d done this song and dance before, many times over the last few months, and never had Astra budged, telling her what kept her up at night or away from others, though she knew her friend guessed some of it. What she didn’t guess, Astra was in no mood to volunteer. Not even to the Spymaster, as much as she craved his touch now, knowing what he was to her.

“We’re doing very well,” Nesta smiled - a genuine smile of pleasure, not worry or guilt or one plagued by self-doubt, wondering if Cassian’s love was true - and Astra hated the twinge of jealousy that bloomed inside her chest as she stared at her friend. “He’s still a stubborn mule of a man, but... _Gods,_ Astra, he makes me _so damned happy_ . I never thought I’d be deserving of something like that, and yet...I found it. _Here,_ in _Prythian_ of all places. I hated this place as a child, but now I can’t imagine my life without it. Doesn’t that make me sound like the biggest romantic sap of all time?”

Astra smiled, sipping at her tea, hoping the action hid the bitter twist to her smile as sadness leached into her heart. “No, it just makes you happy. Believe it or not, you do deserve to be happy, Nesta.”

Nesta’s eyes were sharp as they stared back at her, her fingers tapping the side of her cup. “You could be too, you know,” she murmured, pressing forward and gripping Astra’s arm when she made a warning grunt in the back of her throat, about to rise from her chair. “ _I mean it,_ Astra. Why in the hell haven’t you tried things with Azriel yet? Last I remembered, you wanted to fuck him into next week. Now you can’t stand to be around him...or _anyone_ , for that matter. Why won’t you just let me in? If not me, then let _him_ in!”

“I’m not discussing this, so quit asking,” Astra hissed, internally wincing at how brusque her tone was. Nesta scowled, dropping her hand, watching Astra rise and head to the kitchens, under the premise to make more tea, draining her cup dry. “Want some more?” She half-asked, half-muttered, ignoring Nesta’s humorless chuckle.

“No,” Nesta replied, shaking her head as she stared her way, her eyes all too wise, making Astra’s insides churn. Astra ignored her, making herself another cup of tea, watching her friend rise and pull her cloak back over her shoulders.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out why you got assigned this,” Nesta confirmed, straightening the folds of the cloak and tugging it around her shoulders, solidifying her suspicions, watching her as Astra paused, glancing her way. Nesta’s face was that cold, hard mask Astra had grown accustomed to when they’d trained together under Devlon and became close friends, making her gut tighten - in embarrassment and awareness. As cold as she looked, Nesta cared for her - very deeply. She was letting her know how much with her next words. “Work with Azriel, find Jurian, then come back to us whole, Astra. Lay down whatever bullshit demons are eating at you. You forget that I know _all_ about the path you’re walking. I’m here when you get back if you ever need an ear, and...for the love of God, put Azriel out of his misery. Get close to him, Astra. He’s your mate for a reason.” 

Astra said nothing, looking away, regretting like hell she’d ever told her. Nesta hadn’t acted surprised and Astra had realized Azriel knew then, too, of their status as unbonded mates. He must have confessed to Cassian, who in turn had confessed to Nesta, so when Astra had finally told her, she just wore a look of understanding. As much Nesta's cool knowing look when she'd told her what Azriel was to her had pissed her off, she was also grateful to her friend. She’d known but hadn’t told Astra that she did, allowing her to blurt it out in her own time. It was the one thing she’d told her all these months later, but for her it had been a big step all the same.

Sometimes, it wore at her; why he never came to her, pushed her for more, but then when she remembered the type of male he was - realized that he never would push her for anything. She’d heard whispers of his past, but hadn’t ever investigated them enough to vet out their validity, but if even half of them were true - pressuring a woman to take a mating bond would be the last thing he would do, despite his ferocious reputation as the infamous Spymaster. One didn’t learn the kinds of things he did without using subversive tactics. The worst part was, knowing he could - and probably would - use such measures to keep her safe once bonded only made her want him more. She was such a mess, she wasn't sure he'd want her after he knew just how badly she was these days, barely clinging to sanity it felt like.  _What a fucking mess._

Nesta said nothing, finishing off her tea, then headed for the door, tugging the collar of her cloak up over her light chestnut locks. “Stay safe, remember what we were taught. I’ll see you when you get back, Astra.”

With that, her friend was gone, leaving Astra with a gaping hole of indecisions, regrets and half-baked fears in her chest.

* * *

**House of Wind, Velaris, Night Court Capital City**

Azriel swung - _hard_ \- and watched Cassian and Rhysand both work to block the slam of his fist with the pads gripped in their palms. He was panting, his breathing ragged, but he still buzzed with unspent energy, despite his best friends beginning to fray at the edges, their appearance worse than his own. Slick with sweat, he muttered a curse, violently tugging off his punching mitts, stretching his fingers under gloves of leather that he never took off, turning away from them both and feeling his wings twitch as they rustled against his back.

This wasn’t working. What he _really_ wanted to do was fly back to New Lofoten and grab ahold of his mate and pound them both into multiple orgasms that would leave them blind on pleasure for the next week. Instead, he was hunkered down in the sparring pits with Rhysand and Cassian, feeling like a failure.

 _Bastard seed…_ A harsh, taunting whisper from his past echored inside his head, making his muscles tense and stand out in stark relief against his bronzed skin. Cassian was the only one darker than him, spending more time in the sun while Azriel was always mostly shielded by shadows, but he still was darker than Rhysand by several shades, hinting at the High Lord’s half- High Fae, half-Illyiran status more than anything.

“You need to talk to her about it, at the very least,” Rhyand murmured, glancing over at Cassian, who nodded. He cast Azriel a sheepish grin when Azriel scowled his way. “Remember how holding off from mentioning my own mating bond worked out so well for me?” Azriel paused as he reached for a towel by the bench near where they stood, glancing back his friend’s way. Cassian chuckled, doing his best not to laugh and failing, making Rhysand grin good-naturedly despite how they _all_ remembered how thoroughly Feyre had thrown him to the dirt for that slip in truthfulness. He went rigid at the idea of Astra cutting him out like that, letting out a slow ragged breath. 

 _He’s right,_ Azriel realized, feeling his wings flicker more in agitation. _Shit._

“How _exactly_ am I supposed to do that, when we’re on a mission to invade the mortal lands?” Azriel asked, scowling deeper at the predicament he was now in, glancing at his friends and raising his hands in frustration. “She’ll barely talk to me or even look at me as it stands.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes as Cassian chuckled again and shook his head, sharing a look with Rhysand. Azriel glared, pissed at what they were getting at, knowing how both of them had met their mates during the worst upheavals in their life. “If you’re going to tell me that there isn’t such a thing as good timing, I’m already aware of that,” he spat. “I…” He paused, feeling his face twist briefly in discomfort - a true rarity to do so in front of these men, but then they were his brothers, males he would gladly lay his life down for, so he felt safe expressing his insecurities in front of them and _only_ them, even if it felt forgein most of the time - forging ahead with what he wanted to say. “I’m vastly inexperienced in this area. You two were always so much better at that than I ever was.”

Cassian choked, his eyes bugging, even as Rhysand elbowed him seriously and sent Azriel a sympathetic glance. Azriel’s expression went sharper, more remote, as he glanced to Cassian, promptly sobering his friend as he winced at where Rhysand elbowed him and gave a consolatory smile when Azriel relaxed. “Well? You’re both mated to stubborn females, how can I get through to mine that I want her?”

It was true, Azriel had been involved in sexual relationships, yes, but never an actual emotional one. It had always been about short-lived pleasure -  well aimed, never risking getting the female pregnant, and it was a rare occurrence for him in any event, never being one for much of a drive for such things, until he’d met Astra - and he felt completely adrift, confused and unsure of himself, something that made him feel wildly out of control, which was a dangerous sensation for him. Not even his obsession with Morrigan had left him feeling so... _raw_.

Cassian and Rhysand shared another silent glance filled with knowledge he couldn’t seem to be able to grasp and Azriel could feel his restlessness and frustration rising, his wings rustling once more. _Help me before I combust with aggravation,_ he inwardly swore, feeling embarrassed to think of how often lately he’d masturbated to the thought of Astra. Having never been one to do such things, he was at wit’s end. _Put me out of my damned misery._

“Well, for starters, stop tiptoeing around her and just...lay the cards on the table. She’s scared, obviously, even if Nesta hasn’t been able to figure out why.” Cassian started, shrugging off the pads when he realized Azriel was done beating them to flattened pulps. Azriel’s expression went dark, and the shadows instinctively responded, shrouding half his body in darkness. Cassian and Rhysand appeared unphased, used to such things in regard to him, but he forced himself to calm nonetheless, envisioning Astra reacting badly if he pointed out what he wanted, no holds barred. 

“The _good_ news?” His friend continued, Azriel noting Rhysand nodding as the General shifted on his feet, “You’re going to be mostly alone with her for probably weeks, starting tomorrow. _Woo her,_ man. Get to know her, ferret out her fears, prove to her she’s got nothing to fear, and...be honest in what you want from her. You want everything, I assume? The good, bad, the ugly? Mating isn’t a joke, it’s for life.”

“Of _course_ I know that,” Azriel snarled, feeling the shadows deepen his voice, his hackles raising. He had never wanted anything half as much as he wanted her. She would be his, forever, there was no doubt, his will was just at its limits in regards to restraining himself, but then his mother’s image would flash in his mind’s eye and the winds in the sails of his conviction would flatten. “I won’t force her, Cassian, but--yes. I want it, _seriously want it_.”

“Cass is right, and the sooner you get that through her head, the better. Don’t dawdle, it only makes it worse if you fail to admit how you feel,” Rhysand murmured, glancing outside. “It’s late and I’m exhausted and tomorrow there will be Day and Autumn emissaries arriving, along with Kier. I need to sleep if I’m expected not to kill anyone tomorrow.”

Azriel nodded at them both, turning to head to his own quarters, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep, since he would be seeing _her_ again in the morning. “Thanks for the sparring session. Give your mates my best.”

Both of them nodded, leaving him to his own thoughts as he flew out the window, his blood still broiling for the one thing he couldn’t have, at least for now.

* * *

**Somewhere in the Mortal Lands**

Jurian tried opening his eyes, but realized after several failed attempts, he’d been blindfolded. His eyes were swollen, aching inside his head, and as his dry tongue flickered against his lips, he tasted the crusted remnants of blood.

 _Dammit,_ he weakly thought, dismayed he had been captured. He didn’t remember much since a flash of darkness had blinded him, forcing him into a slumber he knew all too well, one brought on by magic - dark magic at that. In fact, he remembered nothing - not how he had gotten to the Mortal Lands, where he was within them, if he’d gleaned anything about the Alchemists or their plans, the nature of their alliance with the remaining mortal queens, or what plans they had for Vassa, stranded below Tamlin’s lands. Was it their doing that had made her into what she was? Cursed her? Or was it some other creature that held her in bondage? He couldn't remember any detail of the past few months. It was as if his memory had been completely stripped, leaving him rigid with unease and a prickling awareness of what _that_ likely meant.

He’d been compromised.

“Hello? Who th’fuck is there? Where th’fuck am I?” He spoke aloud, in a firm voice. Nothing responded, making him try and stand. He hissed, everything hurting, telling him he suffered broken bones, sprains, and more than a few cuts and bruises. 

He felt stone against his back and feet, felt no daylight against his eyelids, and smelled the faint hint of wet stone. _I’m underground. A dungeon? Cellar?_

Sagging back against the wall, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. He needed his strength if he was to remember why he was here, figuring whomever had him locked away wouldn’t keep him here forever. 


	3. Chapter 3

**House of Wind, Velaris**

Rhysand stared at those gathered in front of him within one of the many meetings rooms within the House of Wind, knotting his fingers into a tight fist. Anger, shock and denial flickered through him as he listened to Keir and Eris both add their own heavy implications to what Lucien had already discussed in front of him. Glancing down, he stared with distaste at the marking drafted out on parchment in faded indigo ink that had once been painted in blood along the skin of fallen members of his army; Illyrians who had chosen to abandon him and his court, all in the name of a displaced revenge fantasy that had only resulted in their death - a sacrifice of their life and their power - to the Alchemist threat and a mad half-brother from Cassian’s past.

 _These markings -_ Lucien had said in a low murmur, glancing sidelong at Rhysand for the briefest of moments before looking back at the parchments, swallowing down what Rhysand had thought at the time was nerves, now knowing what it was - true fear at what he’d uncovered, not at Rhyand himself but at the implications that the Alchemists now held for Prythian as a whole - and continued on, chilling Rhysand's blood with what followed. -  _are very similar to markings Amren found in the Book of Breathings. Not all are the same, of course, but we’ve already established this is an entirely new language. Still, the fact that they know of them, have included them, is...troubling._

Keir hadn’t taken long to follow with his own words, his tone lacking its usual arrogance. If it hadn’t been under such dire circumstances, Rhysand might have even cherished the moment, having not forgotten what the man still represented and had done to his cousin. _The same markings were_ _also found in an empty cell at the Prison, Rhysand. You know what this means._

When Eris had asked for a favor, bringing up their tentative court alliance in the same breath, now that he was High Lord in Beron’s place, even if it was by Tamlin’s hand, not Rhyand’s, he had forced Rhysand to agree to the request, finding it odd but not seeing the harm at the time - now realizing what Keir and Eris had somehow figured out between themselves and decided to share once Lucien had commented on his own findings. How they had known, where they had looked to connect such clues, Rhysand didn't yet understand - but he planned to find out.

As it stood, right now they had all the proof they needed to make the connection, the very idea of what they were suggesting making Rhysand's stomach sour. 

“You’re sure?” He asked, keeping his voice calm and his power contained, even as it wanted to ripple and spread out over the room, casting everything in stars and shadow. Eris, sitting between Keir and Lucien, nodded faintly in tandem with the others, his eyes inscrutable at what the discovery meant. He glanced to Keir, watching him with an intensity that would have any lesser creature sweating from the pressure, but Keir remained oddly calm despite the heat of Rhysand’s glare. “Why bring this to me? I’m shocked you didn’t keep this to yourself, as another smear campaign on my name, Keir. Losing your touch?”

He really wanted to know what Keir’s angle was in this, watching the male he’d hated most of his life - for what motives he promoted in that den of hell he ruled, for what he’d done to his own daughter - still and glance up from the parchments he’d briefly eyed that Lucien had produced. He immediately stiffened, his face taking on that familiar look of disdain Rhysand had branded as his favored look of choice, but his words surprised Rhysand all the same. 

“I’m not in favor of your ruling over this court, so don’t think this discovery changes anything,” he said with surprising ease, blatantly stating his opposition to Rhysand’s power in front of the others - over him and the court at large - making Rhysand bristle, a sliver of his power casting part of the room in shadow as he growled over Keir’s words, but the arrogant male continued, shrugging a shoulder, flickering the rest of the room a cursory glance as he did so, “but I’m not stupid. If the implications of what this could mean hold even a glimmer of truth to them, then what the Alchemists have on their side endanger us all. Regardless of how I feel about you, I'm not in favor of dying to some inbred mortal Alchemist with access to power they have no business holding.” 

Rhysand’s eyes lowered once more to the parchment Lucien had brought with him, containing those vile markings of a newly-minted spellcraft and language, now known to contain elements of Leshon Hakodesh within its script, and the realization that the Alchemists had some grasp of how to read and write it made Rhysand even more furious. 

 _It's supposed to be unbreakable, but now, with this? Fucking hells,_ he thought, keeping his expression outwardly calm even as his thoughts exploded with the implications of what this meant. 

It didn’t matter that it happened before his time, Rhysand knew his court would take the blame, regardless of what High Lord had ruled at the time of the mass error. Amren was proof enough the Prison wasn’t infallible, an opportunity that Keir had already pressed upon after Lucien had highlighted the discovery - and now, it seemed, they had another escapee in their midst other than a member of his own Inner Circle. All they knew was that these very same markings, similar to what the Alchemists used, were in an empty cell back at _that_ place. What would require Rhysand himself to confirm was whether or not the inhabitant was displayed, dead, or missing. 

 _As if I wasn’t already dangling by a thread in this endless battle to protect what’s mine,_ Rhysand thought darkly, making a note to talk with Azriel before he’d left with Astra for the Mortal Lands. If the Alchemists had an escaped Prisoner assisting them, plans for Jurian’s rescue had changed. In fact, by what Lucien had said earlier, before Keir and Eris had dropped the bombshell revelation about the Prison, Rhysand was already regretting agreeing to allow Jurian to venture to the Mortal Lands alone. Luckily, that wasn’t a transgression held entirely on his own - all the other High Lords had been in the room at the time and agreed  to the human's offer. 

Glancing over at the Day Emissary, Rhysand had to admit he was still surprised to see it was Lucien himself that had arrived. Had he truly allied with Day now? Did he know the significance of that move? Had Feyre talked to him? Or was it just because it had pertained to the markings and Lucien had been in Day, using Helion’s extensive tomb collection to discover more about these mystery mortals and their strange grasp of magic. Despite Amarantha’s attempts at destroying the vast knowledge contained in Helion’s court, a surprising amount of it had survived, protected under spells that predated the court rulers.

“You know what this means,” Rhysand murmured. “You were closest to him, besides Vassa. What are your thoughts?”

Lucien looked up, surprise flickering across his face that Rhysand had asked for his opinion. Rhysand stared, noting Lucien’s discomfort, sighing inwardly at the man at his side. Whether he realized his heritage or not, the male would have to get over his distaste at talking in court proceedings. Helion had no notion to settle down and, being his heir, if something became of Helion, it would be Lucien who ascended to fill his place. Watching Lucien clear his throat and shrug a shoulder, barely sparing the others a look, Rhysand made a note to himself to talk to Feyre. _Someone needs to tell him, prepare him._

“Jurian has been through a lot, fooled many of us, even you,” Lucien murmured, holding Rhysand’s gaze for a moment before leaning forward, rolling up the parchments quickly and stuffing them in the satchel he’d brought to the meeting. “If anyone could hold out from this and not reveal our secrets, it would be him.”

“This isn’t Amarantha holding him imprisoned, Lucien, or even Hybern,” Rhysand stated, frowning faintly and glancing over at Eris and Keir, unsettled to talk so openly amongst them but having no choice, seeing as it was them that had brought the Prison cell discovery to the table. Lucien made good points, remembering a time when Jurian had fooled even the strongest of High Lords before the war with Hybern, making him glance over at Lucien as he aired what worried him. “If what your brother and Keir say are true, he’s being held by a much stronger force, and might be at risk for sharing things about Prythian we can’t risk being exposed. He’s a mortal, however old, with knowledge of our inner workings that could weaken us.”

Lucien sighed faintly, glancing at his brother for the briefest of moments with a mixed look of confusion and caution, then looked Rhysand’s way, his one good eye heavy with emotion. “Jurian was well aware of the stakes when he took the job, Rhysand. Even if it meant paying the ultimate price. I assume you already have someone on the job of finding him?”

 _Of course,_ Rhysand thought, nodding, not letting it slip who it was - though he suspected the others had an inkling it would be Azriel. While many knew of Azriel, what he did for his father before him and now Rhysand himself, when on a mission, he was completely invisible. Once he left Prythian, Rhysand trusted Azriel to use his judgement and do what he needed to do in order to protect the Night Court and Prythian as a whole - a job that now might require the Shadowsinger to kill one of Lucien’s best friends.

“Then do what you have to,” Lucien murmured, rising from his chair. “Excuse me, but I must be going. I’ve got an appointment with Amren and a few others. We’re still learning how they did this and what it all means. The more I drag my feet, the longer they can keep using this to bleed victims.”

Rhysand glanced over at Eris and Keir as Lucien left, wondering what in the hell he was going to tell the High Lord Summit the next time they met. Keir started immediately using the available time to prattle on about his agenda to allow the Court of Nightmares access to Velaris as a whole - something Rhysand had postponed, only allowing anyone not from the city or the Inner Circle inside if they were escorted under a ward that would muddle the traveler’s knowledge of how to get there - watching the Autumn High Lord lean back in his chair, his golden eyes gleaming in a way Rhysand couldn’t read.

Rhysand held his gaze, telling Eris without speaking that they needed to talk in private before he was allowed to leave. Eris briefly nodded, reaching for the decanter of wine within arm’s reach on the table, and Rhysand turned his gaze over to Keir’s mullish face, feeling his power ripple against his skin, ready to burst forth and scare his uncle and subject back into submission.

 

* * *

 

 **New Lofoten, Illyrian War Camp, Astra’s Cabin**  

Astra stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, staring at her reflection with a swallow and tilt of her head. Her fingers reached up, smoothing over the boiled curiass that Azriel had made for Nesta as a spare set of armor but in the end had been passed along to her. The dark stain to the leather gleamed in the banked glow coming from the fireplace, flattering her skin tone, two parrying daggers strapped against each thigh that she had comissioned months ago when she’d visited Velaris, before the nightmares had begun. Regardless of how 'battle ready' she appeared, she felt as weak as she felt inside, where her bruised heart and shredded confidence barely managed to stay buried. She glanced over to a closed standing closet near her bed, knowing what lay nestled inside there, wrapped up in a pellet of fur - something she couldn’t bring herself to wear or wield, no matter how good the artistry was.

******

_“You said you wanted one, too,” Stian laughed, holding up the blade by the pommel, sheathing it inside its case and handing it over. She squealed, too excited to accurately express words, feeling her heart explode with joy that her own brother - one of the best swordscrafters she knew - had finally supported her attempts to join the female fighting ranks and had made her a sword to match Nesta’s. She hadn’t expected it so fast, having only just been romanticizing over the other a few mere hour before, shaking her head in confusion as she looked his way. It was stunning - a true one of a kind jewel of craftsmanship - much more delicate and artistic than the one he'd made Nesta, and she felt her heart tug painfully inside her chest, knowing he must have spent hours not only making it deadly and accurate, but beautiful as well._

_Stian seemed to sense her confusion, laughing and ruffling her long dark locks, even as he held his side a little oddly. It wouldn’t be until later that she knew of why. “You didn’t think I’d make her one and forget my own little sister, did you?”_

_“Thank you,” she had whispered, kissing his cheek, cradling the weapon and taking it into her room._

**_**_ **

Gritting her teeth, feeling tears well as she shoved away the memory, she shook her head and began to plait her hair into a thick, long braid down her back, forcing her eyes away from the mirror and closet in question, unable to look at herself or the hidden weapon in that space. 

She wanted to destroy it, but couldn’t seem to do it, holding it with trembling hands when she held it over the molten pit at the village forge right after she'd taken this cabin at the new village Nesta was to see over months ago, unable to drop it into the orange ore and be rid of it forever.

When she’d tried that, she merely stood there, sobbing and furious, then turned on her heel, enraged and disgusted with herself for not wanting to destroy it, despite all the conflicting memories it brought with it whens he looked at it, locking it - and herself - away in her cabin for days. She couldn’t stand to look at herself in the mirror for days after that, including now when she recanted the memory, annoyed at her lingering despair at losing that tender side of Stian and yet still disgusted that she could recall such fond memories of him, knowing what he’d done to her best friend and the state of Illyria has a whole. Was it any wonder why she hid here, in this cabin, barely able to breathe past her own failures to notice how fucking vile her own heritage was? When would her own failings as an individual come about? Was that why she had such horrible, violent nightmares? Every night, especially lately, when she tried to sleep, she was hunted by something vile and unnatural, listening to it call her name and tell her it wanted her, needed her, if she'd only _listen_ and accept it. She'd wake, half screaming in her sleep, stifling her sobs into a pillow, sweat pouring off her as she forced herself to calm but unable to sleep again, too afraid to linger on the dreams she had, all while wondering what it all meant. Was she going mad, like Stian had? Were the Alchemists actually tied to her now too, somehow though Stian’s tainted blood? She was his sister, after all, perhaps the madness was inherited. That, more than anything, scared her most of all - that she had no control over her eventual fate, and she'd sequestered herself away from everyone, especially those that called to her the most. Nesta, Enar, Cassian, especially Azriel.

 _And yet, Nesta asks why I have avoided the bond with Azriel,_ she snorted to herself, grabbing the small gorget and tying it in place over her neck, smoothing out her braid over the piece once it was in place. _He probably doesn’t even want me, mate or not. I’m disgusting. I didn’t even know my own brother was mad, plotting to destroy Illyria as a whole, tried to rape my best friend, or had become such a monster, until it was too late. I wouldn’t want to mate with someone like me, either._

A knock at the front door made Astra’s bones chill. As always, the shadows took that moment to speak up, confirming her suspicions of who was at the door. _Speak of the devil,_ she thought morosely, grabbing the small leather satchel she’d readied before dressing, glancing over her form one last time, forcing her eyes to meet her reflection in the mirror. Fully dressed in armor and weaponry, leather satchel secured between her wings, she was as ready as she’d ever be. Again, the irony of her appearance struck her as funny; she appeared as battle savvy as ever - eyes sharp, armor tucked close to her body, wings drawn as tight as her braid, but inside she felt brittle, close to shattering. Tightening her satchel, she dismissed her appearance and moved towards the front of the cabin, recounting what she'd packed for the mission. It contained small utilities to use in their travels - a few small kris daggers, rolled parchment and a small stick of charcoal, a flagon of water, some dried berries and nuts, amongst other things, and she hoped she had packed wisely. Sighing, she headed towards the front door, bracing herself as the shadows began to teased her along her ears.

_Oh look, he’s arrived for you._

_Your mate is here. He is eager to see you, yes. Very eager._

_Won’t you let him claim you? He will understand your darkness and doubt._

_But then, maybe not. You need something else first, we think. Something you’ll find in the Spring Lands only. Good thing you’re headed that way for a few days._

That last tendril of information had her blinking, her eyes widening slightly, as she slid open the door, coming face to face with none other than the Spymaster himself. His dark eyes lifted as he met her perplexed stare, flashing briefly with heat before drawing tight in a frown, his expression smoothing out into a remote and aloof look that, unlike Nesta, Astra had never fully been able to read. Had he noted her perplexed stare and thought it was directed at him? She briefly panicked, wondering if the shadows had ratted her out - telling him she too could hear their whispers, but as he stared at her, she realized they still hadn't betrayed her. Wondering why but keeping silent, she simply stared back, at a loss for what to say. As always, his handsomeness staggered her, making her whole body light up the longer she took him in. He was dressed as formidably as he always was, shorn dark locks cropped close to his head, except for the small fringe that always fell forward, covering most of his forehead and brushing against his eyes, the hint of tattoos and shadows against his neck making him appear as frightening as all the rumors about his profession proclaimed. Despite the fear he sparked, her body still responded to him, making her swallow nervously as she tried to force her eyes away from his face and failed.

Not even asking if she was ready, he merely reached forward and grasped her hand, his own dark leather gloves feeling cool against her exposed skin. She shivered, opening her mouth to ask where they were headed, when the shadows he commanded burst outwards and sucked them into another realm, one without light or sound. 

Feeling the familiar tug-pull of winnowing at play, she still couldn’t help shivering, closing her eyes tightly and tugging close, unnerved at how at peace she seemed to be here, with him, in this place of shadow and dreams. Azriel used the moment to grip her tighter, drawing an arm across the expanse of her waist and pulling her flush against him, making her body stir as her cheeks heated. She didn’t dare open her eyes to look up into his expression, afraid of what she might see. It seemed he was going to winnow them first, then maybe ask her to do the same, knowing how exhausting through firsthand experience it could be to winnow two bodies at once. 

Azriel said nothing, merely holding her tightly against her as they moved - faster than sound and light itself, in this place only he felt at home in. As much as she wanted to protest being molded against his form, she didn’t want to look until she was asked to take over, winnowing them when Azriel began to tire.

After almost an hour, she realized he wasn’t going to ask. She blinked, opening her eyes, slowly raising them to stare at the carved cords of Azriel’s neck, where those shadows still lingered and caressed, even here, and eventually drifted her eyes over his sharp jaw. She still wasn’t brave enough to meet his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me to take over?” She murmured softly, wincing at how her voice carried in this place with no sound.

He shook his head, not tilting his face to look down at her, telling her he was concentrating on what he was doing. “No, we’re almost there.” 

From what she was willing to stare at, he didn’t appear even the slightest fatigued, making her brows draw upwards in surprise. _How can he keep this up?_ Her eyes lowered, looking at one of his shoulder pads, laced with a gleaming siphon stone. Once more, she was reminded of how many he carried, drawing her gaze further down his body as she met each one with a brief stare. During her inspection, his grip tightened on her waist, drawing her closer. If she wasn’t mistaken, she could feel his -

Suddenly, the shadows and the tug-pull sensation stopped. Azriel gripped her tightly for the merest fraction of a second, making her swallow nervously as her body heated, but just as she was deciding what to say to untangle herself from his grip, no matter how much her body wanted her to keep ahold of him, he let her go, stepping back.

Astra blinked, glancing around slowly, feeling dizzy and lost as she studied her surroundings. They’d moved fast, covering more ground than she realized. She frowned, turning, her eyes widening when she saw green foliage surrounding them, along with blossoms - rose blossoms - around them for miles, the clearing they were in being a pebbled path, leading to a handsome estate in the distance. The sun was high overhead and the overwhelming scent of flower pollen clung to the balmy air.

“Where are we?” She whispered, glancing back Azriel’s way. “I thought we were heading to the coast?”

“The Spring Court Estate. We will wait here for a few days before proceeding over the narrow strip of sea into the Mortal Lands, per Rhysand's orders,” Azriel answered, brushing past her, his face unreadable as always. “Come.”

Remembering what the shadows had whispered to her, Astra turned, staring in the direction Azriel had begun to walk. Forcing herself to follow, she swallowed thickly, worried what the shadows knew that she didn’t. Glancing at the Azriel’s backside as they walked, she wondered briefly if she should tell him what they’d told her.

When he glanced her way, his gaze once more glazing over with undeniable heat as they swept over her body, she kept her lips firmly closed and followed him towards the estate, saying nothing. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Establishing more Mortal Queen/Alchemist lore in this chapter (MQ names not mentioned in the book, places, factions, politics, etc etc, at least at the time this fanfic was written).

Astra had never seen so many flowers in all her life. They were  _ everywhere _ \- in every courtyard, every decorative edge of the vast estate, both outside and inside, from what she could tell from the windows - and with them came the cloying scent of sweet pollen that made her head throb dully from the scent. 

Roses, Geraniums and Marigolds lined the impressive gardens where she followed Azriel towards the estate, and again with Daffodils, Daisies and  Chrysanthemums, bedded in tight little rows of colorful pottery outside Spring’s impressive archway entrance. Azriel seemed unimpressed with the display while she tried her best not to stare wide-eyed at everything she encountered, curbing the need to scratch her nose and sneeze from the occasional overbearing saccharine smell.

High Fae and human guards flanked the entrance, making Azriel and her pause while their arrival was announced to the court. She forced herself not to fidget and look around, but also didn’t drop her eyes to the ground, watching Azriel boldly stare forward and wanting to mimic him. She didn’t want to offend anyone, but like anyone from Illyria, had too much pride to lower her eyes and imply an outside court was any less than where she was born and raised. While Illyria may not be covered in a swathe of greenery and flowers, it wasn’t without its own sense of desolate beauty. 

Once they were cleared to enter, Astra briefly surveyed the household as they moved towards whatever meeting area room Tamlin or one of his advisors would greet them in, taking in what she could under covert glances. The human that had greeted them chattered softly between them as they walked, Astra tuning it out and only giving the occasional nod and glance when her name was mentioned,  Azriel seeming far more comfortable answering questions. She realized she should have forced Azriel to answer her before they’d entered the house, had a Spring Court representative at their side, what her role was in all this, but that was too late now. She was embarrassed to admit she felt out of place, wondering again why she was chosen for this mission.  _ Doesn’t Azriel have better, more skilled hands at his disposal than mine?  _ She briefly frowned, quickly masking it before either of the men saw, swallowing thickly if there was something else at play that she didn’t know yet. Nesta hadn’t made it sound like they had wanted to kick her out of New Lofoten or Illyria as a whole - knowing her friend would have fought such a mandate tooth and nail - but Illyria was still healing as a whole, their confidence fractured, and it made her shudder to think she’d been sent on this mission just to be forgotten, forced to work in shadow alongside Azriel’s other spies for Rhysand, just to break off the Haavik name in association with Illyria.

She glanced sidelong at Azriel for a moment, flushing faintly and feeling guilty for suddenly associating him with something vile and wrong. While the work Azriel did was far from ethical at times, it was a necessary function for any court to have an intelligence gathering group, so really - was it such a bad idea? Hadn’t she  _ wanted  _ to hide from all the stares from before, after what her brother had done had become public knowledge? Filing it away as something to ask Azriel later -  _ Was this mission some sort of recruitment opportunity? -  _ she once more let herself get lost in the slow walk and observation towards the Spring meeting area they were heading towards.

She had only read of Tamlin’s lands in books borrowed by her father from Velaris, of which most was sparse and didn’t paint the most flattering picture of. High Lord Rhysand himself had been at odds with Tamlin and his family for centuries, given what had happened to his immediate family, and his father before him had also not been close to the Spring Lord before Tamlin. What she could see seemed both fragile and strong, still in a transitional stage from a previous weakness to one of great magnitude. Oddly, that made her smile, thinking that Illyria was currently very similar, despite outward appearances of a strong people.  _ Maybe not so different, then,  _ she thought, walking a few steps behind Azriel and the mortal court official. 

What was different, though, was  _ radically  _ so. Where Illyria was desolate and ruggedly unforgiving at times, the Spring lands were bright, humid and carried an appearance of lazy idleness and frivolous luxury. To the land’s credit - as well as the people’s - when she looked hard enough, she noted the lingering scars of war, and how hard the Spring Court was trying to take what was broken and make it whole and strong again, perhaps stronger than before. There were brief areas of the estate that seemed unsettled, covered sections of wall still being overlaid with wallpaper and plaster when she managed to spy through spaces in the draped edges of construction, and areas that seemed  empty, like it was missing some display or artwork that had once been there before. The people, too, were different than she expected, not dressed in frilly lace with painted faces. She’d seen that a time or two on Kier’s people, dolled up and manufactured to appear like royalty, but in the worst ways possible - bored extremes of illy-bred arrogance and entitlement sewn into each stitch of silk and brocade. Instead, the Spring people mostly wore simple garb and the no-nonsense look of a person who had known hard work in their life and didn’t shy away from it. 

The more she saw of the Spring estate as they waited outside Tamlin’s study, the more she was impressed by it, even if that fascination made her feel slightly embarrassed and uncomfortable. Despite the High Lord Summit having smoothed relations between this court and her own, it was still not common for most Night Court subjects to care for Spring or hold it in the same realm as being inspirational. Not wanting to sound either impressed or affronted at Spring’s recovery from the recent war - something Illyria was still struggling inefficiently with - she remained mute as she walked, turning her gaze away from anyone that stopped and greeted their human escort.

_ What had he said his name was?  _ She wondered, her eyes lowering over the human’s form that walked with them, curious how Azriel knew this man, since he seemed so easily able to hold a conversation with the mortal. He was older, his face etched with fine lines and crinkles at his eyes, his hair a steel grey that had begun to grow over the edge of his high collared clothing with a pinned round medallion laid flat against a bright red sash that crossed over one shoulder. He seemed important, which was yet another thing that surprised her, having never met a mortal with a rank before within a court. 

_ I really should have paid more attention when he was walking us down the hall,  _ she admonished herself, remaining dutifully quiet at Azriel’s side. 

_ Kristoph,  _ the shadows suddenly licked along her consciousness, making her jolt, answering her internal debate.  _ He is the High Lord’s Ambassador.  _ The human hadn’t noticed, but Azriel did, glancing over at her briefly before resuming his talk with the human. She turned her head away, not meeting his eyes and studying the hall instead, aware of Azriel’s heavy stare lingering on her.

_ That was a rhetorical question,  _ she inwardly hissed, gritting her teeth but keeping her expression schooled. She sensed the faint amusement of the ever-present shadows, a tendril of something curling up along the base of her spine, making her curl her fingers into a tight fist to remain composed.  _ You choose to finally answer me now? After all this time? _ She decided to ask, tentatively reaching out, not even sure if she was doing it correctly.

_ You never seemed keen on the idea before, Astra Haavik of Lofoten,  _ they whispered back, making her skin prickle where they lingered.  _ Do we take this as an invitation to talk more often? _

_ Um,  _ she glanced between Kristoph and Azriel, praying neither of them picked up on the intrinsic level of awkwardness she suddenly felt. Thankfully, neither seemed to have noticed, or were really well at hiding it. Her eyes steadied briefly on Azriel, glancing away again before he picked up on her stare, her brows lowering in concern before she finally replied back, the shadows teasing her again and again, making it hard to track the conversation in front of her. Luckily, no one was asking any questions of her, so she was able to reply.

_ Well, sweet Astra? What is your answer? We’d like to know. _

_ Um, yes - I...guess. So I just….ask for you and you...answer back? Is that how it works?  _ She finally muttered inside her head, feeling foolish for hiding this from Azriel. If he found out she could do what he did, and this mission was in fact an audition to join his spy network for the Night Court, she’d never hear the end of it, but the fact he was her mate and his level of interest would probably border on obsession made her not very eager to share. 

_ Yes,  _ they whispered back, the hiss carrying the slight edge of amusement as it lingered and licked softly along the curve of her spine. 

_ Don’t do that, it feels gross,  _ she shuddered briefly, letting her eyes drift and latch onto a painting as they slowed, nearing a door that appeared to lead into a smaller room than she’d originally anticipated, just perhaps the size of a small study or office. Kristoph kept busy with Azriel as they knocked and waited, so she returned to pestering the shadows, feeling their touch ease but not completely go away. 

_ Why haven’t you told him I can talk to you?  _ She asked, agonizingly aware of Azriel at her side, keeping her expression schooled, not wanting him to realize that she was actively conversing with shadows. It felt like a large sign was pinpointed over her head, blasting out her newfound secret for all to see, but she relaxed further when Azriel failed to look her way, still answering Kristoph’s polite questions the longer they waited. 

She didn’t know how, or why, but it had been a “gift” of hers ever since Nesta had brought her back, after Stian’s stolen power from the Alchemist had wrenched her from the land of the living, only for Nesta’s cauldron power to drag her back. Even thinking about that moment made a subtle shudder skirt up her spine, but she stifled the urge before it was noticeable. Dying and being brought back to life sucked and had a whole smorgasbord of issues she’d never tell anyone about. It’s not exactly like there was some anonymous club she could go to and talk it out, either. She wouldn’t burden Nesta with it - the woman had a new war camp to run, and was mated to the General of Illyria, related to the High Lady by blood, and still had her own demons to battle - she had enough on her plate. Besides, the only ones who seemed to have any experience with her particular set of trauma  was High Lord Rhysand and the High Lady Feyre and she was  _ not  _ about to ask them about  _ that.  _

How would that even start?  _ Oh, hey, so like - when you died and then were resurrected, did you have nightmares, too? Do you hear voices inside your head? Suddenly develop odd powers? No, just me? Great, good to know.  _ She struggled enough just not having her head offered on the chopping block by Illyria’s public opinion, thanks but no thanks.

_ Because our relationship is none of his business,  _ they replied, interrupting her thoughts, before smugly tacking on something that made her fury rise, appalled and feeling her cheeks heat.  _ You must be the one to tell him. He  _ **_will_ ** _ find out, eventually. He is your mate. Imagine how he will react when he learns -- _

_ That’s enough, I get the point,  _ she inwardly snarled, furious. Now even the damned  _ shadows _ were conspiring against her, wanting her to bond with the Spymaster. 

Biting down the sting of humiliation she knew she would face at that conversation, she instead thought back to what it had said when Azriel had arrived, hesitating for a moment, then plowing ahead.  _ What did you mean when you said...there’s something I need here, in the Spring Lands? What could I possibly need? _

The shadows went so silent and still, for a moment Astra was worried she’d scared them away. Finally, they answered her, but something seemed changed in the way the voices responded. They sounded darker, hungrier,  _ edgier. _

_ It is here - something that used to sleep in your homelands, but it now remembers its purpose, freed from that den of endless text. It needs you - and you need it - if you’re to survive what comes next. Go to the southern lake inside the forest tonight, after your dinner with the High Lord.  _

She blinked slowly, her gaze stilling on a bland, generic painting on the opposite wall from where they waited for Tamlin to answer - the frothy spray of white flowers blurring into a white blob of meaningless color. They wanted her to  _ what?  _ Find this mysterious  _ thing _ in the forest surrounding the Spring estate? In the middle of the night? Just how was she supposed to do  _ that, _ exactly? 

She cast her glance back over at Azriel, watching Kristoph turn, knocking lightly at the door again and calling Tamlin’s name. Azriel didn’t even so much as glance her way, still seemingly oblivious to her little chat with the shadows he was so familiar with. If he caught her sneaking out, she’d have to have  _ that  _ conversation with him, something she was loathed to do, and if it was Spring guards that caught her instead of the Spymaster? What a mess that could end up being.

_ How in the hell am I supposed to do that?  _ She asked them with exasperation, looking around the hall, noting the heavy guards and extraneous amounts of court personnel that called the estate home.  _ I can’t abuse the hospitality extended here. Surely you’re smart enough to know Night and Spring aren’t exactly on the strongest terms, even now. How the hell am I supposed to sneak off in the woods and do….whatever it is you’re suggesting?  _ Her eyes flickered to the back of Azriel’s head.  _ He’ll notice, or worse,  _ **_Spring_ ** _ will. I might as well sign my own damn exile warrant.  _

_ We will keep him and the others preoccupied. Do this, if you want your answers,  _ they responded, the odd sensation of a lingering coolness disappearing from her back when the door opened and a large, muscular High Fae with tumbled blonde hair opened the door. His entire body crackled with of wifts of barely-contained power - a rugged mastery over some nature-infused element Astra could barely name - making her swallow. So this, she mused, was the High Lord of Spring. 

“Greetings again, Azriel,” Tamlin offered, sending the Spymaster a brief nod before glancing her way, his green eyes filled with yet another surprising amount of warmth, something Astra hadn’t expected. “And this is?”

She stiffened, hoping Azriel left her last name out of the exchange, knowing that Tamlin was most likely well-versed in her brother’s mad scheme to destroy Illyria and aide those that would do the same to Prythian as a whole - waiting for the Spymaster to speak. He glanced over at her, his dark eyes sweeping over her in a way that left her cheeks heating, knowing she was probably reading too much into his stoic expression, despite swearing she saw a flash of unbridled hunger when he looked her way, responding in an unsuspecting inflection to Tamlin’s question. 

“This is Astra, another of Rhysand’s trained army. She will be assisting in the search for Jurian,” he murmured, making her shoulders relax in unexpressed relief, despite being briefly disappointed at his lackluster tone. Tamlin glanced over her form, judging her in a clinically detached way she’d learned to endure from the likes of Devlon and other War Chiefs, and whatever he saw must’ve met his expectations, because he simply nodded, gesturing to them both to join him in the study.

Before they could step inside, a cheerful voice called out to Tamlin - the tone sweet and slightly breathless - making Astra turn and glance over her shoulder. It was a High Fae woman, breathtakingly beautiful in a way only High Fae could be, with freckled pale skin and wild red curls that fell to her waist in waves. In her arms was a swaddled mass of blankets, but the small hiccup of an infant could be heard. “Tamlin, darling, where is Rosalie? Caelan needs to be fed and the mill’s not grinding again. I told Gregor I’d see if the boys in the orchard could help.”

Tamlin frowned, seemingly not pleased that the female wanted to do this task herself, walking over to her and lowering his head to murmur something in the female’s ear, his hand raising and gently tracing the babe’s cheek with a finger. Despite the look of disapproval on his face when she argued softly that she was perfectly capable of doing the task, the way in which he stared at the female made Astra’s face redden and glance away, like she’d stolen a look at something precious and private. 

_ That must be High Lady Shula,  _ she realized, brushing past Azriel and Kristoph, moving into the private study they’d been standing patiently outside of to give them a measure of privacy. Azriel followed inside, not far from her side, Kristoph murmuring for refreshments to be brought by a passing maid while Tamlin and his mate talked, their faces lit by undeniable love despite the little swabble she’d briefly witnessed. She’d heard of Lady Shula and how she had become a popular figure at the High Court Summit, but had never seen her firsthand until now. Remembering the child in her grasp, she hadn’t realized she’d given birth. It had been rumored about, of course, that she had immediately taken to carrying Tamlin’s child - another unusual thing, from what she heard about High Fae fertility rates - but then, Shula had been like Feyre and Nesta, made and not born Fae. Perhaps things were different when one started out differently in life.

Forcing her gaze towards the window, she was once again taken by all the beautiful flora present - noting a rose garden of unparalleled beauty right outside. Azriel said nothing, nor Kristoph, not that she was listening, still distracted by what the shadow had told her, turning her gaze towards the treeline in the distance.

“Tea, Miss Astra?” Kristoph offered, when the maid returned with tea. She looked back, smiling faintly and nodding, thanking him and taking the cup, noting out of the corner of her eye that Azriel refused, his usual clipped and stoic self. She managed a thin smile towards Kristoph but wondered if she’d done something wrong by failing to refuse the refreshment, sipping on the warm contents of the cup while waiting for Tamlin to return. 

_ The shadows said to escape the grounds tonight,  _ she mused to herself as she sipped again at the hot brew, her eyes lingering on the forest.  _ Why tonight? What’s supposed to happen tonight? _

She glanced Azriel’s way once more, noting Tamlin was wrapping up whatever he was saying to his mate and turning to come back into the study. She hoped whatever method of distraction that the shadows promised was good, swallowing down a mouthful of nerves as she watched the Spymaster turn, his dark gaze clashing with her own as Tamlin entered the room, Kristoph bowing briefly and existing the study, closing the door behind him.

“Sorry about that,” he smiled, forcing Astra’s gaze away from Azriel, glad for the distraction, feeling for a brief moment as if Azriel knew what she had planned by the way his dark eyes devoured her expression “Shula’s still determined to manage everything herself these days, even with our son still not weaned. Now, down to business, shall we? You wanted to know about reports coming in from the coast forts?”

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, facing Tamlin now, allowing Astra to blend into the background of the conversation, merely a listener, sipping at her tea. 

Looking outside one last time, she forced herself to pay attention to what was being shared as Tamlin reached for a leather satchel, passing some parchments towards Azriel, who in turn passed the intelligence reports to her. Looking down, she began to read, deciding then and there she’d listen to what the shadows had to say.  _ Tonight,  _ she finally agreed, diving into the review of the coast’s activity and Jurian’s last nights in Prythian before he had gone missing.

 

* * *

 

**The Mortal Lands, Ephesus, Capital City of Ionia**

“We can’t keep him here!” She shouted, slamming her fist against the large marbled trestle table separating the robed figures from her side of the room, her sister queens saying nothing but their expressions clearly supporting her outburst. Her unforgiving face was unflinching, like a guard dog on alert, staring mutinously at the gathering of men across from her, her dark eyes glinting against the black velvet brocade of her fine dress. She always appeared in mourning, but everyone who knew her - these men, her sister queens - knew it only spoke to the ferocity of her soul. Queen Morgana would never stand down, never be meek, not when she was continually denied what she wanted countless times over, especially since the High Lord of Spring and the other Fae assassins had killed her sister, the cauldron crone known as Mavia. “We already lost the war, lost the other High Fae female. We cannot stand to turn Prythian’s eye towards us, not now. We’re weak and it’s only a matter of time before they discover it. This city’s army cannot stand a full attack from Prythian and  _ you  _ have failed to deliver on your promises to us. Why should we continue to trust you?”

“Your Grace,” Purred Ikalis, leaning forward and tucking his hands into the large sleeves of his grey robe, the same shade that matched his eyes that narrowed into thin slits, like a snake, “Prythian’s eye is  _ already _ on us. It has been since you and your sisters failed to keep the Book of Breathings portion you had in your possession, not that we blame you, Demetra’s duplicity was something no one expected. Why stop now, when we’re so close, and they already see us as a threat? We lose nothing if we act. The mortal is valuable. He knows their lands, their secrets. We’ve only just begun to fracture his mind, surely you understand why this must be done? Don’t tell me you care for this creature, that cannot by any definition of the term, be considered human now? Why-- he  _ betrayed _ you, sided with the High Lords you hate in the war, against you and your people, against us  _ all. _ Isn’t this just a little bit of poetic justice in the end?”

“It carries too much risk,” spat Morgana, her hawkish features no less gentle as she glared across the table, noting the other Alchemists saying nothing, staring at her in silent unison. “ Treaty or no treaty with the Fae dogs, if they discover we have one of their pets in  _ our  _ dungeon, it’ll be war all over again. I refuse to be that blinded by ambition that I’d risk our people to discovery. Don’t you remember those ward triggers years ago, when Hybern started once more talking war? They’ll come back if he’s here, I know it. I don’t care that you use him, or even kill him, I just don’t want it done in our city.  _ Move him _ . Surely you have a place less tied to us that can be used. Where are you with the Fox?”

Ikalis paused, turning to look across the room, where no one sat but darkness and shadow - and one robed figure that barely ever spoke. It raised a single hand, flicking a pale finger in a small circle, and a map fell to the center of the table and splayed open, shadows moving about the map - one of Prythian - curling around a section that the others had no clue to the meaning. Ikalis spoke for the shadowed elder of the council, smirking faintly at Morgana, who glared towards them both in turn, not looking impressed, but growing quiet all the same. 

“He’s there,” Ikalis murmured, motioning to where the elder outlined on the map, his eyes turning to look over each Queen in turn. “As you can tell, that’s in the center of the Fae Isle and, from what we’ve been able to learn, the center of the Day Court, where the current High Lord is known as the Spell Cleaver. We’re still working out a means to weaken him, thwart his power of unraveling spellwork, and the mortal will aide us in that. He was trapped with them, underground, for nearly half a century. We need this information, Your Grace, if we’re to fetch the Fox and grant you what Hybern failed to give you. Besides, if we left, who would defend your castles, your people? You think your walls of stone and men will hold against  _ them _ ?”

Morgana glared, the other Queens glancing at one another, even as her icy dark glare didn’t flicker in the slightest against Ikalis’ threat. Still, he knew he had won, in the way she said nothing, merely stared in that loathsome expression she was infamous for.

Ikalis glanced back at his elder - at the secretive male that had formed the sect to begin with, drawing him from a poor farm south of Ionia and into the revered position he was in now, showing him things he’d only dreamed of once - watching the shadows linger around his black-robed figure. Despite being frightened of his elder, he believed in what they were doing - turning the tables on the Immortals that had abused their kind for centuries, giving rise to a power that would soon rival any creature that thought it better than them, just because they were born different and had a longer life than a human - and he turned back to Morgana, addressing her original issue.

“We will move him soon. A fortnight at most,” he murmured, “And his mind should be ours to control. Will that suffice?”

Morgana’s expression never faltered, but she nodded subtly, and the other Queens followed suit.

 

* * *

 

Azriel didn’t dare look at her - not during the debriefing with Tamlin, not during dinner,  _ certainly  _ not when they were escorted to rooms in a rarely-used portion of the Spring estate, where their doors were merely side by side. All that would separate him from his mate during the night to come was a bit of wood and plaster and it would take an immeasurable amount of control on his part not to go into her room and kiss her stupid and seduce her into bed.

So, as always, he said nothing, expressed nothing, merely conversing with shadows to appear bored when they found themselves alone together. He’d seen her surreptitious glances around the Spring Lord’s estate and surrounding gardens when they’d first arrived, forcing himself not to smile at the avid curiosity she struggled to contain. He’d forgotten his mate had led a simple life until recently, not venturing much past Lofoten where she’d been born, until she’d developed that tenacity he’d admired from first meeting her and joining Devlon’s training group, even against her father’s wishes. She didn’t think he knew that, but he did. He was the Spymaster, he knew nearly everything about her.

_ Nearly everything, but not  _ **_everything_ ** _ ,  _ he thought darkly, finally giving in and glancing her way as she stepped past him, towards her own rooms.  _ I wish she would talk to me, about that day - about  _ **_any_ ** _ day, really.  _ He knew she had night terrors, the shadows telling him that much, but if he was honest with himself, he was mostly frustrated because they had begun to turn traitor on him when it came to the most precious thing he wanted to learn about - his own fucking mate. Whenever he asked, they would provide the most superfluous answer that he ground his teeth in fury, but they’d never answer him, no matter what he tried. It seemed that fate was destined to make this difficult for him and he’d have to learn what she held secret the old fashioned way.

Turning the door handle to his own bedroom, the scars on his hands tugged painfully at the ruined skin of his fingers and palms, telling him what happened the last time he trusted people who should have loved him and yet betrayed the very definition of the word family. Still, he couldn’t hold Astra accountable for the horrendous black hole that was his past.

_ Maybe if you tell her about you,  _ he mused to himself,  _ she’ll open up about herself. _

_ A novel idea, old friend,  _ the shadows whispered softly, sighing against his collar bones. He growled, flicking his fingers against his wrist, trying to dismiss them, but they refused to move, still a sentient thing and prone to deviousness when moved to be.  _ You’ve never told anyone all your secrets, not even your brothers - but your mate? Will she get to know you in all your forms, even as a bastard slave? _

Not willing to listen further, he slammed his door shut, ignoring the echo of the door as he turned, stripping down to the skin, intent on taking a very long, very distracting, very  _ cold  _ bath.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Astra sat at the window in the room she’d been offered by a human servant, her eyes trailing the sky and watching the waning light that set the foliage across the lengthy gardens surrounding the Spring estate in a dim glow. It really was beautiful here, even as dusk bled into night, the flowers looking different under the glow of approaching stars. Her eyes once more gravitated towards the edge of the forest in the distance that she was supposed to sneak towards once night had fully fallen. Biting the bottom of her lip, she hoped she was making the right choice by doing this. She’d learned through subtle questioning of estate servants and personnel when the others weren’t looking her way that her windows faced the south, relieved to know that once she was out the window, all she had to do was head straight to reach the lake the shadows spoke of. She wondered again what kind of distraction they had in mind - for Azriel, for the Spring guards, for the High Lord and High Lady that slept on, unawares that a member of the Night Court’s army would be slinking about without permission in their own countryside - and began to form an excuse for what she would say if she was caught. It would only work if she was captured in the gardens, deciding she'd use sleeplessness and worry about their upcoming mission as a reason for strolling among the flowers that Tamlin and Shula seemed to favor, but if she was caught further out, in the surrounding woods, she knew that excuse wouldn't harbor much merit. Still, at this point she felt it worth the risk. 

She just hoped, if she was discovered, that Azriel would get to her and understand when she confessed that she  _had_ to do this, the shadows telling her it was imperative that she do so. Still, the look of outrage and realization that would no doubt line Azriel's face when he realized she'd been hiding these gifts from him, along with avoiding him since she'd recovered from her fight with her brother, made her dismiss the idea entirely.  _Just don't get fucking caught, then,_ she commanded herself inside her head, staring out across the length  of the gardens, towards the woods that grew darker with each passing moment,  _and then you don't have to say shit, do you?_

She’d spent the better part of half an hour when she’d first arrived surveying her room. The paneling in the room was gorgeous - cream and a light icy shade of pale blue, intertwined in the colored accent of the wood in the chairs, dressers, and posts that dotted the room and the large bed she was to sleep in; the epitome of a fancy countryside estate, even a few smattering of rose-filled glass vases around the suite. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing to hint at the idea that she was under quiet observation - no hidden panels, no secret tucked doors inside the decorative paper that graced the walls. There were no lingering guards outside her door, either, and those that she had spotted were no thicker than what she'd noted before, hinting that what she was noting was the normal amount stationed throughout the estate. 

She had bathed to pass the time needed before night set in - wiping down the inside of her armor, her blades, and the satchel she carried, removing as much of her scent as possible, just in case the guards or any animals they might have kept on duty were keen on unusual scents, not wanting to be noticed as soon as she began to lurk about the grounds. Now, sitting fully dressed once more, staring out the window, she idly wondered if she should go next door and ask Azriel for his help.

 _No,_ came the quick reply, sighed alongside her thoughts so softly, she almost didn’t realize it came from the shadows themselves. She jolted, her heart hammering in her chest, glaring around the room, feeling them suddenly move and coalesce along the walls, like a living, breathing thing. _This is something you must do on your own. If he comes, you won’t get your answers._

 _What makes you say that?_ She asked, looking around her room, then once more out the window, seeing the last vestiges of light dying on the sky, stars and shadows blooming in its wake. _You’re not leading me into a trap, are you?_ She suddenly questioned, going rigid with fear, half rising from her chair to head towards the door. What if this was all some big ruse to cause her harm?

 _No trap, it’s something you must do for your mission to succeed. You will need this. Please - it is imperative that you listen to us,_ they whispered back, suddenly not seeming so ominous as they had o often before, the tone of their whispers almost pleading - sad and somewhat somber - in the deepening shade of her room, the sun fully dipped over the horizon.  _Please, trust us. You need to do this alone._

 _What if I need him?_ She asked, glancing once more towards the door, not quite ready to dismiss the previous unease that skirted up her spine that seemed to warn her that the idea of leaving Azriel out of this was wrong. For all her reluctance to embrace the mating bond with Azriel - as frightened of him and all that he represented as she was - the few times she’d felt truly afraid in her life, he’d been there and protected her. She wondered if she needed that now.

 _We will call him,_ they responded, their touch along her limbs feather-light. _But only if your situation is dire. We promised not to betray your secret to him, but we will, if you worry for your life. It is time to go. Hurry, before it gets too late. Your window is closing._

Sighing, seeing little choice in the matter, now that they had promised her they would call Azriel and expose her secret if she needed him, she turned and reached for the window latch, clicking it open. The hinges were blessedly quiet, even as she took her time slowly swinging them inward, stepping up and crouching lithely on the window frame. Looking down and around, seeing no guards on duty, she tucked the window panes as close to the frame as she could, so it would look like she’d just opened the window for a breeze of cool Spring air while she slept, and dropped down below, flaring her wings out to soften the impact and noise of her feet once they hit the soft grass below.

Swallowing nervously, she straightened and glanced about, the thicket of roses around her shielding her from the paths that the guards walked, tucking her wings in tight once more. She didn’t carry any weapons in her hands, knowing that if she was found she didn’t want the guards immediately assuming she was out doing something nefarious in the middle of the night.

 _So what’s this distraction you have planned?_ She asked the shadows, feeling a cluster of them curling around her wrists and the small curve of her lower back, as she stepped out from the cover of the rose thicket. She began to pick her way quietly towards the pathway, seeing no one nearby, flickering a look towards the windows of Azriel’s room, seeing nothing but darkness inside. Maybe he was asleep - she _hoped_ he was asleep. For some reason, the thought of him being awake made her nervous, so she hurried her steps, using her wings to cushion the sound of her boots against the stone path underneath her heels.

 _Watch and learn, young Shadowsinger,_ they whispered, making her nearly trip over her own feet as she paused for a moment, looking about to make sure she was utterly alone in the section of the gardens. Was that what she was, then? A shadowsinger, like Azriel? That made her feel even more stupid that she’d hidden this from Azriel, but she was in too deep to wander back to the estate now and wake him, ask him the sudden abundance of questions that were now on the tip of her tongue. As she moved, creeping cautiously between bushes and blooming flowers of considerable height, she watched the shadows in the area thicken, brushing against her face and fingers, tickling the parts of her body that were exposed to the air, until she herself looked nothing more than a glimmer of darkness on the wind. Suddenly, a fogginess crept along her lids, making her bite back a yawn, until that too also cleared, and she realized everything near her seemed swamped with the same dark, lulling sensation, even the roses and blooms curling up into themselves.

 _What the hell?_ She squeaked internally, heading towards the woods at the back of the estate, glancing about as she moved, her footsteps quiet and unevenly spaced, using her wings sparingly but forcing her body to glide along the ground, now in a hurry from what she was seeing. _What did you do?_

 _Blended you into the colors of shadow and night,_ they responded with a hint of their previous amusement and deviousness, _along with a slumber incantation. Relax, Astra, no one can see you._

 _A--what? Can every Shadowsinger do that?_ She blinked, slowing for the briefest of moments, glancing around sharply and then back at the estate where Azriel and the others slept, her eyes focusing once more on Azriel’s window. Was _that_ how Azriel was so renowned on never being caught when he was doing spywork for the Inner Circle?

 _Yes,_ came their soft reply, just as she finally hit the edge of the forest, where the guards stations seemed to be sparser, spread out for miles. She felt, rather than saw, the ripple of noise in her head, suddenly able to tell where the guards were and how alert they happened to be. Shocked and a little excited about these newfound abilities, being friends with the shadows, she hurried along when they ushered her to move once more. _Shadows are everywhere, young Shadowslinger. We hear all. Would you like to know what **else** we hear? _

Her mind filled with Azriel, making her face heat, knowing by their amused tone that it was him that they were referring to. Rapidly shaking her head, trying to ignore the burning bloom of embarrassment that pinkened her cheeks, she moved swiftly in the direction she was supposed to head - due south, to the small lake they mentioned earlier in the evening. _Uh, no, I’m good for now. Maybe later._

She ignored the small rasp of what she could only assume to be shadowed laughter as she moved determinedly towards the place they told her to go. 

 

* * *

 

**Dungeon Cell, Ephesus,  Kingdom of Ionia, Mortal Lands**

 

Jurian shuddered, heaving and groaning as he tried - and somewhat failed - to resist the spell work painted onto his body, feeling it trying to burrow underneath his skin like an infestation of insects and dark magic. It _burned,_ leaving him weak and shuddering, even as he choked up what little food and liquid they’d fed him over the past few days, moments like this reminding him too often of what it had been like to be under Amarantha’s control. It still hadn't managed to fully penetrate him, take over his mind and body, but he was losing that battle, inch by painstaking inch, and as he vomited, he knew it was only a matter of time before his captors won out.

One thing he knew, though, was that he’d rather die than see himself under a control that wasn’t his own. _Never again,_ he shuddered, closing his eyes and weakly trying to lift his head, trying to get his mental bearings so he could find a way out of this situation - or, if he had to, a way to end it permanently. He wasn’t afraid of dying - he’d already done that, on more than one occasion, if one counted his life Under the Mountain when he’d been reduced to mere body parts and a mostly destroyed psyche.

His body spasmed violently, wrenching on the metal cuffs clamped against his wrists and ankles that held him shackled to the gritty stone wall behind him, unable to stand on his own. His shoulder sockets and calves throbbed painfully from where the metal bit into the muscle and skin, forced to hold up his body weight, but he was too weak to stand now, after what had felt like hours of endless torture. 

“All you have to do is give in, Jurian,” a robed human man said from across the room, smiling in what appeared to be a horrific show of glee, resting in a chair by a lantern that showed only his grey robes and glimmering steel-grey eyes, the rest of him hidden in shadow. His smile was craven, one Jurian would have been more than happy to rip off his snide, corrupt face, but he’d been struggling too hard to not allow the dark magic in, to take control of his body - a fight he knew he was losing ground in. “It would be so much easier for you,” the man confirmed, tipping his head to the side, having paused between incantations of that horrible magic Jurian detested. “You know we will get inside eventually, in the end. Your resistance, while admirable, stands for nothing in the long run. Give _in,_ and perhaps when we are done with you, we will allow you control of your own mind once more.”

 _Hah,_ he thought bitterly, _like I haven’t heard that one before._ Spitting the remnants of bile from his mouth onto the floor - knowing he looked as bad as he felt, but not about to give the Alchemist satisfaction that what he was doing was draining him - he glared back and peeled his lips into a sneer. The robed human merely chuckled at his attempt at an outburst, but Jurian refused again to give in to the satisfaction of allowing the man to know how much his actions were affecting him. He knew the Courts would send a rescue team in, once he realized what they wanted to do, but he was worried he would succumb to their magic before they had a chance to find him. Even death was a better alternative than what it would be like to lose his mind to another corrupt power-hungry monster. Amarantha, Hybern, the Alchemists - they were all the same thing underneath, driven by the same insatiable need, a need that would never be satisfied, even if they got what they wanted from Jurian in the end. It was a need to consume, everyone and everything, until nothing remained. 

Forcing his eyes open wider, he shifted and grit his teeth, even as the human shook his head and bowed, beginning that chant of words once more than made the very fiber of Jurian’s bones ache. This was the language the Alchemists had created and it made him simultaneously feel like his body was shattering and being realtered into something _else_ entirely, but he resisted, even as he tried to look around. So far, he hadn’t seen the other one that would sometimes accompany the grey-robed human, making him sag once more against the biting grip of the bruising metal cuffs in relief, even adminst the pain the magic pulled out of him as the human worked it once more. That one scared him, reminding him too often of Hybern and the war, when the Cauldron’s powers had been unleashed in full, before Rhysand had been able to stop it. 

A sudden, sharp stab of penetration made him groan, hoarsely gasping as he spasmed against the metal cuffs as he felt his gut turn hot - like it was suddenly filled with a swarm of hornets. Across from him, he noted the grey-robed Alchemist began to smile, murmuring those words in a stronger tone, telling him he was once more close to losing the tethered control he still held over his own body.

Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, feeling his entire body break out in a cold sweat, he once more concentrated against the words being spoken, praying whomever came to find him did it quickly.

 _I can’t hold out much longer,_ he beseeched anyone listening, groaning as another wave of magic brushed against his skin, carrying with it the sting of a swarm of bees. _Please hurry._

 

* * *

 

Astra, once again - for at least the hundredth time since slipping out her window at the Spring Court estate - asked herself what she was doing. This was completely crazy, insulted Spring’s notably generous hospitality since she and Azriel had come here on Night’s behalf, and she didn’t even know what the hell she was supposed to be looking for. How was creeping through the forests of the Spring lands going to aide her and Azriel in finding where Jurian was being held? By the way Azriel had looked all evening, she had to assume that was what this mission was about - a way to bring him back, or if pushed, end his life. Jurian had been gone too long, sent no word back on his whereabouts or what he’d found so far to have anyone in Prythian think otherwise, and Astra began to understand the importance of finding him. Anyone who went looking for the Alchemists posed a risk to Prythian, as their powers and reach were so far unknown, but she held a modicum of respect for the human who had dared try in the first place. 

Reflecting back on the evening meal’s conversation made her swallow nervously, even as she kept moving, her footsteps light and far placed, continuing to flap her wings quietly against the faintly scented breeze that whistled between the trees, hoping if Spring Guards did happen upon her footsteps, they’d be so scattered that they wouldn’t be able to determine the direction she was going in.

**_***_ **

_Tamlin shook his head, glancing between Azriel and herself, then briefly at his mate who had joined them at the surprisingly small round table in a back room of the large court, after he had explained that their formal dining rooms had been transitioned to a meal hall for the survivors using the estate as a makeshift home while order was still being restored in the countryside, buildings and villages still in the process of being rebuilt._

_“Nothing amiss for weeks,” Tamlin commented, passing around the parchments that they had brought with them to the small quiet room they were eating in for privacy, as they dined on the simple but delicious fare offered for dinner. The documents mentioned much of the same that Tamlin had warned them of - the soldiers reporting nothing unusual; the sea remained empty of seafarers, the coast of the Mortal Lands too far across the narrow channel to see anything of substance, and no ships had been spotted, not since Shula had been taken and the Spring Court had banned all ships from docking. If goods were needed, they were transported on land, from the other courts of Prythian, or produced and provided by the mortals still living in the remaining villages below the crumbled remains of the wall along the southern edge of the large isle that also held all of Prythian. That had surprised Astra more than anything she’d seen thus far, that the mortals were so horrified at what the Mortal Queens had done to his mate - first turning her from human to fae against her will, then stealing her away to sacrifice her life for their own eager desire for more power - hat they had rejected the ruling of the Mortal Queens and had formally pledged their allegiance to Tamlin and Prythian as a whole, allowing him to extend his land all the way to the coastline. Even now, Tamlin continued to shelter them, provide for them, and she was confused how she should feel about the male in front of her and what he'd been depicted of in the past, from the rumors she'd heard and the books she'd read about him._

_“The guard reports are more regular now,” he continued, as Astra read and absorbed each document, noting the dates in the upper corner, the names of the guards documenting the activities surveyed, and continued to eat, flickering her gaze back towards the blonde High Lord, “The mortals have joined forced with my soldiers, and we've been able to build a network of forts along the coast. There's nothing that seems out of place. If the Queens are planning a move against Prythian, it doesn't seem to be along my borders.”_

_He tapped at one document in particular and Astra paid it the most attention, even as he continued. “Jurian was granted passage across the sea, at Galle, with an outrigger. He carried enough supplies to last a fortnight, knowing he’d need to gather more once across. He was expected to come out here,” Tamlin motioned to an area of the map straight across the narrow sea from where the newly-minted Fort Galle was, at the southwestern edge of Pythian's coastline, then shrugged his shoulders. “My soldiers watched as he made his way across, and after that--nothing. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. You truly think him caught?”_

_“We’ve nothing else to go off of,” Azriel commented, his jaw flexing as he ate the baked fish that human and lesser fae servants had brought into the room, setting the parchment aside. “He should’ve reported back by now, in any way he could have. I have heard nothing, not even whispers, telling me he’s being held somewhere that my people can’t see.”_

_Astra stared at Azriel, keeping her face schooled, but wondering exactly what he meant by people. There were more of his kind out there? What kind of network did he work with, on behalf of Rhysand and the others of the Inner Circle?_

_Tamlin frowned, sitting back in his seat, reaching to his side to idly stroke Shula’s shoulder. Shula had said nothing through all of this, merely observing, making Astra almost forget her presence - but then again, she’d also been superstitiously quiet, not having anything useful to add to the conversation. When she glanced Shula’s way, the woman smiled faintly, though there was no humor there, just a bleakness that sat uneasy with Astra the longer she stared._

_With nothing else to say, she just tucked her gaze down towards her dinner and continued to eat in silence._

**_***_ **

Now, of course, she knew _how_ Azriel was so eerily competent at his job. She wondered if, when he referred to ‘his people,’ he meant mostly the shadows. What they could do, how he most likely could talk to them like she could - blessed with powers through that tentative alliance and friendship - left her both awestruck and wary of what _else_ he might know about her. 

As she continued to move, straining her eyes to spot the shore of a lake amongst the forest, still not seeing it, she reached out once more to the shadows she now was comfortable enough with to form a truce. _What have you told Azriel about me?_

 _Only things he can learn by questioning others of your kind,_ they whispered, still shrouding her in cloaked shadows and that lulling sense of slumber that hadn’t affected her past those first few seconds it had been conjured into effect. _Your history, of course, and some of your interests, but we haven’t spoken about you since your transformation -- since you could talk to us as well._ Suddenly, the whispers turned wry, almost amused, as they continued. _It frustrates him how we don’t answer his inquiries any longer._

She blinked, raising both brows as she felt the stirrings of a smile on her lips, picking up her pace. Where the hell was this damned lake? 

 _Oh?_ She asked it, hedging around the furious level of curiosity that struck her at the idea that Azriel had clamored to learn more about her and the shadows had denied him. He always seemed so rigidly in control that she thought he hadn’t asked about her at all, barely affected by the untethered mating bond, when she was busy nearly coming out of her skin at all times of the day and night. _What did he want to know?_

 _We’re not going to tell you anymore than we told him,_ they smugly whispered back, _not until you two accept one another._

Almost immediately, she felt her face flame and her rage amplify, gritting her teeth as she fought back a snort. What the fuck kind of response was _that?_ What _exactly_ were they implying? Steeling her shoulders, about to snark back a vicious reply, she cut off the response  when her eyes suddenly noted the edges of a shoreline in the distance, tucked alongside the thin foliage lining the forest floor, underneath the dense canopy above. Realizing she'd _finally_ made it, she went completely still, her heart rate skyrocketing as she looked around wildly, waiting for something - _anything_ \- to happen. Tucking her wings close, she steadied her breathing, and tried to listen for anything out of the ordinary, hearing nothing unusual.

 _What am I supposed to be looking for?_ She asked them, turning in a slow circle, almost afraid to take another step. Suddenly, she realized eerily that nothing replied back - there was no soft trace of the shadows along her limbs, nor at the small of her back - even the air seemed thinner, the dense cloaking they had provided earlier completely gone. 

Immediately on edge, she reached down, palming at the blade sheathed against her thigh, when something rumbled and moved in the distance. _Fuck,_ her mind hissed, even as she went on high alert, scanning the surrounding forest and the dark edges of the lake she was now standing alongside with a sharp eye, _this was the stupidest fucking idea ever. Trusting the godsdamned shadows to lead me to a safe place? In the middle of the fucking woods - at night? You really are a moron, Astra, you should --_

Before she could admonish herself more, she saw it, moving at a leisurely pace a few hundred yards away. Her throat went completely dry, her eyes widening, even as she tugged the blade loose from her leg and held it in a death grip in her right hand. As she took in the size of the dark creature - not able to properly gauge what she was looking at; was it a beast? Another rogue agent? An Alchemist? Just what the hell was it? - she realized how paltry her small shiv was in relation to what she was most likely up against. 

Again, when she called to the shadows, they ignored her. Feeling strangely hurt and abandoned, she forced her breathing to remain even and turned, scanning the surrounding area for a place to hide. Just when she had noted a small copse of trees with a shielding of shrubbery, she heard it - a noise that frightened her to the marrow of her bones. It was a guttural sound of something much stronger and faster than she was, having spotted her. Whatever it was, she was very obviously its prey. 

Astra flared her wings in a rush, intending to take to the skies as fast as she could, feeling its gaze on her. _Shit! Shit, shit, SHIT!_   _Get out of here!_ Just as they flapped, stirring the leaves around her as the strong muscles in her back and wings engaged and she was about to take flight, she felt it grip her at the ankles and wrench her - _hard_ \- in its direction.

Letting out a faint scream, she swiped her blade towards the hulking creature, blanching when she realized it was _covered_ in shadows - like it was a creature built entirely out of them. A thick blanket of shadow and fog rippled around the creature shielded underneath, and when her blade sank past the barrier of it, she understood it was to hide something far, far worse underneath. 

 **_Close your eyes,_ ** blasted against her consciousness, nearly knocking her out from the intensity of the words. She screamed fully then, fighting it, but as it tugged her closer - its grip moving from her ankles to her legs, her thighs, then her waist and shoulders, dragging her into the cloaked darkness that surrounded the monster - she found herself doing what it asked, the blaring words continuing, not coming from the shadows, but from whatever had grabbed ahold of her and refused to let go, even as she felt a well of hot wet liquid under her fingertips, where her blade had swiped against something she could tell was part reptilian, part furred monster, part shapeshifter, in the horrific way the surface of the monster seemed to ripple and condense, then change - again and again. **_Close your eyes, put away the knife, accept me. Let me in. I’ve been after you for weeks, young Shadowsinger. You need me and I need you. Accept me!_ **

_I’m going to die,_ she thought with panic, struggling harder against the hold of the creature, hearing a pitiful series of sobs inside the blanket of darkness she’d been absorbed into, realizing it was herself making the noises. _Why did they trick me? Why did they lead me out here to kill me? Oh Gods, Azriel, I’m so sorr--_

 ** _I will not kill you,_** it blasted at her, making her scream and struggle again, trying desperately to attack it once more, only to feel fingers of all shapes and sizes latch onto her wrist, pry her fingers loose, the blade clattering out of her hand, tumbling to the rocks beneath her boots. It growled, drawing her closer, licking at the blood against her hand, the tongue - or was it tongues? - raspy and soft, bloated and thin, muscled and controlled, as if it was searching for something. **_Are you injured? Your weapons do not harm me, but you could hurt yourself if you do not calm down. I’ve been reaching out to you for weeks, in your dreams, dreams where you die, over and over again, where my brother touched you, changed you, tried to use you._**

Astra went rigidly still, panting and trembling, even as she wanted to open her eyes, stare at the thing that continued to hold her, but didn’t seem eager to hurt her. When her eyelids eased, about to open, she felt its unspoken warning - a snarl so horrid, she whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut once more - but still felt herself struggling to understand what it had said. _H-How...do you know about my dreams?_ She forced herself to whisper back, suddenly confused when she realized it had asked if she was injured. If _she_ was injured? What did  _that_ mean?

 _**That’s my specialty,** _ it spoke back, its words still sounding like a shout inside her skull, making her wince and tremble. **_But you ignored my call. You are strong, Astra Haavik, and I need you just as much as you need me for what’s to come._ **

Still scared shitless, she did recognize one thing - it wasn’t attacking her, its grip more to subdue any attack she would do to it versus what it intended to do to her. Panting, unable to calm her riotous heart, still wary and on edge, feeling the utter absence of the shadows she’d become accustomed to since waking from her unnatural death, she forced herself to swallow thickly and tug at where it held her wrists. _Can you let me go? I won’t run,_ she supplied, shocked she was willing to do that - but then, it had proven itself immensely powerful, and she had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to outrun it, even if she tried - and waited to see what it would do. _If you need me, have been trying to talk to me, then…..let’s talk. Holding me against my will is freaking me out, though. Why do you feel so...strange? Why can’t I open my eyes? Plus, why are you shouting?_

To her surprise, it released her, but hovered so close, she knew she was still locked inside the odd cloak of thickened shadow that covered its body. Keeping her eyes firmly closed, she frowned, straightening to a stand and tucking her wings close, her boots firmly on the forest ground beneath her. It purred, curling and shifting around her, making her rub her hands over her arms, chilled and frightened at the attention and seemingly obsessive fascination she seemed to spark in the creature. _What’s your name?_

 **_Bryaxis,_ ** it hissed in her thoughts, making her go still with shock. The creature from the Velaris library - the one that had been rumored to be missing - was _here_ ? With _her? What the fuck?_

 **_I will not harm you, Astra, this I promise you._ ** It continued, as if picking up on her internal panic, no doubt aware of the change in her from the small whimper that had burst past her lips when its name had sunk in, realization slamming inside her skull. **_I feel strange because I am not meant to be without a formal host, here on this plane. Where I come from, we do not hold what you’d call a corporeal form. I chose to bind with my cousins, the ones that help me hide my true self, otherwise it causes madness._ **

Unless she was mistaken, she felt a tinge of sadness along this abomination’s thoughts, even as loud as they were. Frowning, tilting her head to the side, she mulled over what he thought. _Are you...stuck here? Why didn’t you return with Feyre to the Night Court once the war ended? I heard you were bound to her. Isn’t she your host?_

 **_No,_ ** it snarled, almost venomously, Astra able to feel the condensed shadows coalescing around her, pressing against her skin, blotting out all other sounds in the surrounding forests. **_She is NOT my host._ **

She went still, afraid to ask the next question, but knowing she had to - if the way this conversation was going, she wasn’t going to be given a choice anyways. Licking her lips, fighting back the panic that made her fingers tremble as they ran over her arms, she forced the thoughts to the forefront of her mind. _Then who is?_

It took the beast a surprising amount of time to answer, pulling closer, from what she was able to hear and feel against her skin. It still didn’t touch her, like she requested, but she could feel the focus of the creature on her, like it desperately wanted to touch her but held itself back, making her shudder and shift nervously on her feet. This was it - it was going to take her against her will, out in these woods, and she’d no longer be herself - she’d be the captive of this creature of nightmares, shadows, and madness. She braced herself for what was to come.

 **_You are,_ ** it said, like she surmised it would, making her gut turn hard and cold, horror clawing up her throat. **_Only you, Astra Haavik, can help me._ ** She blinked, nearly tripping, at what it said next, dissipating that sense of dread lining her stomach. **_Will you...help me?_ **

It - _what?_ She desperately wanted to open her eyes, stare in confusion at the creature that hovered so close that it threatened to touch her again, but she remembered its words and didn’t, merely frowning, thrown off by its plea-filled words instead of a predatory taking. Keeping her wings pressed tightly against her spine, she forced herself once more to reach her hand out, feeling it come into contact with the creature. It was a flatter surface than the rigid and changing texture of its tongue and hands - a shoulder, its back or abdomen maybe? - and she felt the vibrations of a purr as she began to gently explore its shape. It was a shoulder she seemed to be touching, struggling with what to think of to say, when it asked her another loud question inside her mind.

**_You would...touch me? Even now, knowing what I am?_ **

Once more, the buried melancholy in its tone plucked at some form of empathy in Astra, knowing all too well how it felt to be isolated from the community she’d lived in all her life and the world at large. She frowned, shrugging a shoulder, raising her other hand and feeling something shove gently at it - the crest of the creatures head. Again, she felt saddened that this creature seemed so starved for affection, and she brushed her fingertips against it, forcing herself not to think of what she was touching, tuning out the textures she discovered along the way - scales, horns, bristling fur, ears, a strange honeycomb like orb that she wasn’t sure was an eye or something else entirely - finally settling on what to say back.  _What does helping you entail? You said I’m your host. What does that mean?_

 **_I will bond with you,_ ** it said back, making Astra almost jerk her hands back in horror - did it mean like how Azriel and her were meant to bond? - easing her worries when it continued. **_Like my cousins, the shadows, have bonded to you. I will still be myself, you will also still be yourself, but together we will...anchor one another, feel one another, be able to assist one another. I can hide in you and you can hide in me, if needed._ **

_Hide in you? How?_ She frowned, tilting her head to the side, almost forcing down a snort of laughter that - thank the _gods_ \- she wasn’t going to have to fuck the thing to bond with it. It sounded like it bonded like the shadows did to a Shadowsinger, not that she knew anything about that, having never asked Azriel formally what a Shadowsinger was and what all they could do, just going off instinct. _You - uh - keep your thoughts to yourself and my own can be kept to me, right? Like the shadows do, only answering and coming when I call or think about them?_

 **_Yes,_ ** it answered back, tucking in closer, making Astra’s gut flare in warning when she felt wings and scales and fur, along with various limbs - some sounding like they ended in digits like her own hand, others in hooves, others yet in talons - rubbing against her like a giant cat. **_You can ride me, my cousins will hide us. Unless, of course, you ask me to reveal myself, but I must warn you, it will drive others mad if I do this._ **

That made her jolt, wary again as her fingers paused in their petting. _What about if I accidentally look at you uncloaked? Will I go nuts? If we’re in a predicament, I don’t think I can just close my eyes and pray for the best._

 **_No,_ ** it purred, its tone gentle, almost pleased. **_As my host, you can gaze upon me and be immune. I will protect you, honor you, because without you -- I am losing myself, Astra of Illyria. One day soon, I fear I will no longer remember my name, or why I came here, and what I need to do. Will you help me?_ **

The relief she felt made her almost sag against the creature that curled around her, feeling it brushing against it as it purred. Again, she pondered what it meant by ‘why it came here’ but as she focused on the loneliness it tried to bury, she found herself once more feeling a strange kinship with the creature. How long had it been alone, shut away from the world? How long had it wanted someone to talk to? Didn’t she know _exactly_ how that felt?

Sighing, she nodded, brushing her fingers against its form, forcing down all the other chaotic clatter in her brain. What would Nesta think? Azriel? The rest of the Inner Circle? Illyria? Would it matter? It wanted _her_ , and for some odd reason - she couldn’t tell it no, not with how its loneliness struck a cord inside her own soul.

 _I agree,_ she whispered back, feeling the creature go silent and still, the shadows condensing and whirling. Suddenly, it purred, tackling her to the ground, but she didn’t feel under attack - her fingers registering it’s tongues as it licked and nipped at her fingers and bracers, a rumbled pleased noise escaping its throat.

 **_Now I must bind you to me,_ ** it spoke, the ecstatic notes of its mental speak making her smile. **_Bare your forearm to me, Astra. I must place my mark on you._ ** As she did so, it seemed to hesitate. **_This will hurt, but only for a moment. It hurts me to cause you pain._ **

Again, wondering why she was insane enough to agree to this, but hearing the unspoken agony in its voice, she shook her head and tugged off the bracer to her right arm, holding it out. _It’s okay, Bryaxis,_ she whispered to it, taking a steadying breath. _I’m going to have to take a leap of faith here that you don’t mean it and you’ll get me back to the Spring estate without causing a scene or alarming anyone. Will I wake up before morning?_

 **_Yes,_ **it replied, and she felt its fangs tuck around her arm, making her tense for the briefest of moments. It purred, the soft sound almost hinging into a whine, then when she touched its head gently, it bit down.

To say it hurt was an understatement. It _burned_ , making her jackknife on the forest floor, barely able to muffle a scream in time before it felt like liquid fire was coursing through her veins. _Oh Gods,_ she whimpered, spasming and twisting as the creature curled close, then seemed to shift and dip _inside_ of her. _What the fuck...is that? What’s happening?_

**_We are joining, Astra. It will be over soon._ **

Before she could reply back, she fainted, the burning sensation in her arm turning a thousandfold more powerful, until it felt like coals were being dragged along her skin. 

 

* * *

 

**Rhysand and Feyre’s Estate, Velaris**

 

“We need to talk to Lucien,” Rhysand murmured, leaning against the doorframe that led into their private bath, watching his mate comb through the wet curls of her hair, her bare body gleaming from her recent bath. His cock throbbed painfully against his brais, but he ignored it, content for now in just watching her work through the snares in her gorgeous chestnut hair, her belly and breasts beginning to round and fill out from carrying his unborn son. The pride and love he felt in moments like this threatened to crush him, the sensations were so overwhelming. Forcing his mind of the lure of Feyre’s body, he lifted his eyes and stared into her own as she peered through the mirror she was facing, meeting his look with a questioning glance. 

“About his heritage,” he further clarified. “If something were to come to Helion, he will ascend in his place. Helion should be made aware, too, if he doesn’t already know. He’s never encountered his mate, has no plans to settle, and Lucien is of age. He needs to learn the workings of Helion’s court, his advisers, his people -- just in case.”

Feyre frowned, her eyes going distant as she continued to work at her hair, and he knew what she was thinking. Lucien had once been a friend - now a strange, unclassified acquaintance and possible family member, if her sister ever acted on the mating bond that had formed once she had turned High Fae from the cauldron - and he struggled against all forms of court life, having been burned so badly by so many in the past. 

For one of the first times in his life, he felt a little shame at how he had handled Lucien, but then when he lingered on it too long - remembering that time in the mountains when Lucien had tried to drag Feyre back to Spring and to Tamlin’s past crazed self - he immediately dispelled any lingering guilt at what unnecessary burdens he’d put the male through and shrugged it off as life of a noble High Fae in Prythian. Court life was hideously dangerous, his own history being of similar instances, and even if he ever convinced Feyre’s sister to mate with him and became an extension of Feyre’s family, nothing would change the fact that Lucien was Helion’s heir. He needed to know, to prepare for that, even if he didn’t want it. Regardless of if Helion mated or married now, Lucien was his eldest, and it left no doubt in Rhysand’s mind that if Helion passed and had other children, it would be Lucien that inherited his throne and power.

“He’s dealing with a lot right now, with Elain, with the Alchemy language, with his past…” Feyre murmured, seemingly mostly to herself, but then glancing his way as his frown to her words deepened, “...but I suppose you’re right. He needs to know, one way or another. Has he already gone back to Day? Do you think we should talk to Helion first?”

Rhysand began to nod, running through mentally how he would handle the delicate situation, when Feyre’s sudden cry made his tenacious slip on his power unfurl. Snarling, he jumped towards her, not liking the sound of pain in her voice, casting the room in shadow and starlight, the rippling effect so strong, the mansion briefly shook under the weight of his power. He could hear guards pounding on his door, calling out his name, but all he could focus on was Feyre, clutching her wrist like it was burning, her mouth drawn into a tight line after that initial jagged scream.

“What’s wrong? Feyre? Are you okay? What is it?” He managed to ask, tugging her into his lap and ripping her robe off the wall, covering her in it just as Night Court guards swarmed the bathe. She shuddered, clinging to him, slowly raising her left arm. He frowned, motioning the guards away when there was nothing apparent in the room that was a threat, not wanting them to happen upon Feyre’s nudity, when he realized what she was looking at.

There, on her left arm - was nothing but smooth unmarred skin where a black band used to sit. His insides went on edge, knowing all too well about binding magic. 

“It’s gone,” she whispered, running her fingers over the smooth, blank skin with a wince, making Rhysand struggle not to unleash his power again, drawing it close as he felt and looked about, sensing nothing around them, cradling her body close. “How is it gone? He--” Suddenly, she fell quiet, and the look of pain was replaced with one of frowning concentration, then continued on. “He removed it.”

“ _What?_ Are you alright?” Rhysand barked, unnerved that someone could reach her through the bargain marks on her skin, even cause her pain. God, creature, abomination - it didn’t matter, if it had hurt her or the babe, its life was forfeit. “Tell me if you know where it is, and I will send men after it. Hell, I’ll go after it myself. _No one_ hurts _my mate_ and lives to talk about it.”

Feyre frowned, shaking her head, brushing off his promise of violence on her behalf, too engrossed with examining her arm. “I don’t know--I couldn’t tell, Rhys. I don’t know. It could be anywhere.” She shuddered, tucking closer to him and closing her eyes, and Rhysand was reminded of the time he’d send her inside the Weaver’s cottage, and again when they’d both visited the Bone Carver, and what they’d felt with both of those encounters. 

“I hope, wherever it is, it isn’t causing harm,” she whispered, tightening her fingers on Rhysand’s shirt. “But I’m okay, our son is okay,” she murmured, as if she could feel the tension pouring off him, easing a small fraction of the starch in his muscles. “I just -- I don’t know, Rhys. I couldn’t feel where it was. I did feel something, though….something that worries me.”

“What does?” He frowned, tipping his head back and smoothing his fingers over her face to reassure himself she was fine. 

Feyre looked  up, frowning back. “Someone else took my place. It’s now bound to someone else. I couldn’t make out her face, but...she seemed...familiar.”

He cradled her close, sitting in the stool she’d just occupied, refusing to let her go, even as she reached once more for the comb that had fallen out of her grip, chewing internally over what she said. _Someone had taken over her bond to the creature - but who?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark beginning to this chapter. You've been warned.

**The Past, Outside of Loholt, Illyrian Warcamp bordering Velaris**

He couldn’t pull his gaze from the floor, her words clanging together inside his head, reminiscent of the sounds that came from the chains that hung from his wrists and ankles. Even now, they hung there, swaying slightly as his feeble body trembled under the weight of what his mother had just said.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered, almost afraid to talk. What he _really_ wanted to do was stand up straight and shout, scream at her, his life, his family; his half-brothers and father and step-mother for putting both him and his mother in this situation to begin with, but even with every fiber of his being wishing for such a reaction, he could barely manage a weak denial as he heard the soft, sad sigh of her voice at his words.

“I do. You were a mistake. A mistake I should never have allowed to grow. Now, no one will see me; not in the village, not in other camps, and I cannot--” She went promptly quiet when he growled softly at what she was saying.

 _Her_ life was miserable? He was chained inside a darkened hole in the basement of his father’s home; his wings weak, his body starved, his hands ruined, his only companions shadows - and he wasn’t entirely sure if those were his fevered imagination just trying to keep his sanity from fracturing worse than what it was - and she had the audacity to worry about _her_ life, in front of _him? Could she not see what had been done to him, for years? Did she even care?_

Of course, he said none of those things, merely staring at the floor, feeling all that anger and bitterness paralyzing his vocal chords, when what he really wanted to do was scream and shout that while she was contemplating the impacts of his birth on her own life, he was being beaten and starved in the shadows. 

She didn’t realize it, maybe, but her words cut him to the bone. She had been his anchor for so long, telling himself that he endured this life because she cared and hadn’t wanted what happened to him or to her to occur, that she’d been forced into this life. Realization slammed through him, making him suddenly nauseous, and he finally was able to peel his eyes off the ground, raising them to stare at her haunted face, at the guilt he prayed wasn’t there. Her eyes were dark, clouded, and so much like his own. He couldn’t tell if there was guilt or remorse there, and he wasn’t sure if that made anything he’d endured any better. Had she given him up to his monster of a father? To the man that cultivated violence so well that his half-brothers were barely recognizable? As if sensing his probing, unspoken questions, her eyes shifted, staring back out the window by the table he huddled next to, where she sat sipping a lukewarm cup of tea.

Huddling closer to the floor, he shivered faintly and absently rubbed his hands over his arms, the ever-present chains at his wrists and ankles clanging once more, trying to bring warmth to the chill that had suddenly settled over his skin. Lowering his eyes, unable to completely dissolve the bitterness that festered inside him, he spoke softly but managed to voice some of the hurt clouding his throat all the same. “Sorry to hear, _mother._ As much as your own life hasn’t been what you expected it to be, neither has my own.” 

His angry words emboldened him to lift his gaze from the floor once more, meeting the saddened pools of her own dark eyes - again, so much like his own. He didn’t even flinch at the despair he saw amplified there, furious at her earlier decree that his birth had been a mistake, only upset over the implications it had on her own life, not seemingly concerned that her own son was being treated like rabid abused animal, raising his wrists to drive home his point. 

For the briefest moment, when she dropped her gaze to the chains around his arms and legs, guilt and shame flickered in the depths of her eyes, but before too long it was gone, replaced by that endless depth of despair once more. For a fraction of a second, worry knotted his gut. Ever since that night that she’d come to see him and his hands had been ruined, she had been fragile - like a globe of blown glass that, with the faintest shake, would shatter. He could sense the frailness of her spirit, compounded over years worth of abuse by his father. Had he added too much to her burdens? He was angry, yes - at her, at his brothers, at fate and everything in between - but the real culprit was his father. He was as much a captive as she was - all objects of his father’s shame and obsession. His father had the power to make his mother’s life less miserable, less shunned. He also had the power to send Azriel away, to a war camp or somewhere else, not left to rot in a basement in his home, as a testament to the War chief's household of his infidelity to his wife and legitimate sons. It spoke of his father’s black soul that he preferred things the way they were now.

“What’s your name?” He whispered softly, the tone pained. He had always wanted to know. His father hadn’t told him, neither had his half-brothers or his stepmother. She had always been called names to him - _Whore, bitch, trick._

His mother turned her gaze away, looking out the window of the ramshackle hut she called home. It was in desperate need of repair - the roof was patchy, the chimney flue sporting crusted patchwork bricks that barely heated the interior in the winter, and the furniture was mere slats of wood splintered together by nails, hay, and half-rotten fabric. Still, this was the only place he was allowed to see her now, after what had happened when she had last come to visit him. He tried to ignore the fleeting sense of hollowness he felt when her eyes stayed focused on the mountain outside the window, rather than at him.

“Just call me mother,” she murmured. “It’s easier that way.”

He frowned, not understanding. Easier _how?_ For whom? Him? Her? Both? 

Before he could ask, the door slammed open and his father stood there, expression stoic and hard. He wouldn’t even look at him, his dark eyes riveted on his mother. Azriel tensed when he saw the unmistakable flicker of heat gather in his father’s eyes. He knew what _that_ meant. He’d be chained to the tree a few feet away, forced to listen to his father’s grunts and his mother’s soft cries. They weren’t cries of passion - he recognized cries of pain when he heard them. She’d made them when his brothers had forced themselves on her. They were so much worse when it was his father, though.

Clenching his hands into tight fists, he tried to stumble to a stand. His mother may not care that he was shackled and half-starved in his father’s home, but he cared about the cries she made when his father forced his attentions on her. He didn’t want to see her hurt; she was his mother. Still, he was weak and could barely stand and watching his father finally side a glance his way, only to laugh at his inefficient attempts at protecting her, made him so angry his weak limbs shook, his wings fluttering uselessly at his back.

“Your spirit certainly came from me, boy,” his father spat, pride in his tone even as disgust wrinkled his brow as he skimmed over Azriel’s waifish form. “Too bad it was all you got.”

Azriel bristled, flashing his teeth, despite not being able to move quickly enough to dodge his father’s vicious blow to his abdomen. He doubled over in pain, feeling gorge rise in the back of his throat as his father’s large calloused hands - warrior hands - grasped the back of his neck and hauled him outside. Limp with pain, he heard the click of the locks to his chains against the tree, trying to stand to do something - _anything_ \- as he looked back towards the hut his mother called home. She had turned to look towards his father, her eyes glassy and blank - looking dead, for all intents and purposes, going to some internal place no one could hurt her, least of all his father - and he watched as his father glanced back at him, smirking at the fury and hurt clouding Azriel’s face before slamming the door shut.

Slumping to the ground, he clenched his fists tight and pressed them to his eyes, willing the sight of his mother’s despair and defeat out of his mind’s eye, even as he heard her soft sob of pain, followed by the groan of his father’s excitement.

 _I hate him,_ he spat futilely inside his head. _I hate him, and my brothers, and my stepmother - I hate all of them! I wish they’d all just die!_

As the sounds inside the hut grew louder, Azriel curled into a tight ball and tried not to cry, but as always, he failed - doing his best to keep the tears and trembling sobs to a minimum - keeping the evidence of his grieving a secret. If his brothers or father ever saw how they hurt him, they’d relish it and heap more torture on his mother. Even though it hurt him to realize that his own mother hated him - he was the reason she was an outcast, wasn’t he? - he still loved her and didn’t want to be the source of more pain for her.

 _One day, you’ll be strong enough,_ something caressed against his mind. He stiffened, then relaxed, realizing it was the shadows. Wiping at his cheeks and tuning out the sounds of his mother’s rape, he instead focused on what they were saying. 

_Patience, young singer. Patience is all we ask for. Give us time._

_If I give you time and patience,_ he thought bitterly, glancing towards the cabin door, _what will you give me in return?_ If it were possible, he’d ask for his father and brothers’ heads on a pike.

 _Just wait and see,_ they whispered back, in that soft coaxing tone that soothed him in the worst moments - like now - calming the riotous feel of his misery as the noise inside the hut grew louder. His father was almost done, and his mother wouldn’t see him for weeks after. She never could see him after the times his father visited her. _We will make it worth the wait._

Staring at the door to his mother’s hut, he let out a shuddering breath. 

 _It better be,_ he finally responded, his fists clenched tight. _It better be worth everything._

 

* * *

 

**The Spring Lands, South of Tamlin’s Estate**

Groaning and blinking, Astra opened her eyes and looked up, staring into the darkened canopy above her head. It was still dark, but time had passed - the woods were mostly quiet, hinting at the late hour, some time past midnight, even the nocturnal creatures bedded down for the night. This was that small sliver of time between true night and morning, when barely anything stirred. It was almost eerie how calm and silent the woods surrounding her were.

Easing up off the forest floor, she glanced around, realizing she was still entirely alone in the woods, she took a moment to quietly survey her body. Rolling her head and stretching her shoulders, she groaned faintly at the ache and pull of her muscles as she moved. Her entire body felt stiff, sore, and strangely hot to the touch, her skin covered in a small film of sweat, despite the coolness of the surrounding wood. Sitting up slowly, testing her shoulders, arms and hands, she peered down at the area that Bryaxis had marked her, going completely still with what she saw. 

The initial teeth marks hadn’t left wounds or scars like she suspected they would, instead having  turned into an intricate spiral tattoo pattern, reminiscent of layers of teeth she saw in some deep sea fish her brother had often told stories about. Swallowing, she traced the curvature of one with a finger before shaking her head and grappling along the forest floor for her missing bracer. Buckling it in place, she forcibly made herself stand, testing herself for dizziness or any other side effects for being insane enough to allow a creature of nightmare and shadow to bite and bond with her.

 _Bryaxis?_ She whispered in her head, slowly stepping in a small circle when she felt confident she was back to normal. _Are you there?_ She waited a few more minutes before ensuring all the articles she’d come with were on her, following her footsteps and using her wings once more to keep her steps spaced out far enough, trackers wouldn’t be able to make tails of her trail. She looked around, trying the shadows this time. _What about you? Are any of you there?_

_He is resting, young shadow singer. As you should be, too._

Astra scowled as she managed to half-fly, half-trot back to the Spring Estate, dodging Spring Guards as she did so. Seriously, they were going to lecture her? After she’d followed their advice into the woods in the middle of the night, then been bitten by that creature and passing out from the pain? Even now, she felt the tattoo that swirled up her arm like a living, breathing, _sleeping_ thing. How she was going to keep it hidden from Azriel and the others, she had no idea. In fact, this whole thing was insane and stupid and she should have never done it. Ignoring their concerned whispers when she failed to respond, she looked up just as she neared her window and used the last vestiges of her strength to launch herself onto the sill, then slipped inside.

Gods, she was tired. She staggered down from her perch, turning to lock the window and attempt to get some small measure of sleep, when a hand reached out and clamped down over hers. She wanted to scream, twisting faintly when she felt a warm, muscled body press up against hers, a gloved hand clamping down so tightly over her mouth and jaw that she couldn’t bite her attacker, let alone loosen his grip, instead choosing to go completely limp, hoping the sudden shock of her full weight would loosen his hold. It did neither, so she swung out with her wrists and ankles, trying her best to see in the darkness who was attacking her. Had Spring found her room empty and thought she was out seeking trouble? 

When her heel ground down against the instep of her attacker, she froze at the familiar grunt she heard near her left ear. Oh shit. _Azriel?_

“If you so much as move or speak, I will end you,” he hissed, pressing forward, his hand sliding from her mouth to her neck, where sure fingers splayed across her throat, able to follow through with his threat. She shivered, hearing nothing of the sweet, slightly distant Spymaster she admired before; this was the voice of someone familiar with the act of killing and not afraid to use such tactics if needed.

His hand reached down, inspecting her body, most likely searching for weapons or a way to identify her. She stiffened, but said nothing, nor moved, remembering his threat. Slowly, his hands went from being harsh and thorough, to slow and hesitant. Suddenly, they stopped around her hips, gripping her tightly and then whirling her around to face him. She opened her eyes as soon as she was facing him, releasing the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

His expression was fierce - hard to decipher, as it always was - but she could see a chord of underlying fury there. Why was he in her rooms? Had he come to visit? Had he seen her open window and assumed...what?

“I can explain,” she blurted out, “I know what this looks like, but--” only to be cut as he suddenly shoved her against the wall, his grip on her hips dropping to cup her face and the back of her neck, her eyes going wide as his expression shifted from one of an unreadable mask to rage and hunger, his mouth moving to hers before she could object.

She couldn’t say anything after that, because he was kissing her. His mouth, tongue, and lips spoke of anger, frustration, and concern. For a second, she considered pushing him away, but when his tongue slid against hers, she sighed and allowed herself to give in. He tasted of darkness, shadows, and danger - and she _loved_ it. She heard his groan when he realized she had given in, his gloved hands lowering to cup her waist and lower, pulling her tight against him, shocking her when she felt his arousal pressing against the soft curve of her stomach. 

Just when he began to grind against her, his hands seeking more of her, his mouth and tongue working her body into a writhing haze of pleasure, she heard something stir in the back of her mind.

 **_Astra,_ **  it spoke, making her go rigid. Azriel seemed to sense the sudden change in her mood, going still, his face pulling back just enough to have his lips hovering inches from hers, studying her face. She blinked, eyes wide, unable to answer the voice but hearing it all the same, repeating her name again, watching as Azriel stared, a dawning comprehension darkening his eyes as his jaw flexed, his mouth going taut. **_Astra, we must move. We must go, now, to the coast. Before he moves again._ **

She blinked again, frowning, ignoring Azriel’s tightening grip on her waist. She knew, once she was back in the moment, he’d have questions. From what she could sense, he was furious at her little adventure into the woods without telling him, and was beginning to suspect what she was doing.

 _What? Move? Why? Now? Who are you talking about? Who would be moving?_ Afraid to meet Azriel’s eyes, but knowing she needed to, she lifted her gaze, staring at the hardened look on his face. She almost flinched at the complete absence of any emotion, when before he’d looked so furious and aroused, hinting at what he felt.

**_The Alchemist that controls the shadows. I can sense him, where he  is, where to find him, but only if we go now, before he moves._ **

She went still, her eyes widening, glancing at Azriel, trying to decide how to tell him what Bryaxis was saying, when his flat voice spoke for her, his eyes revealing nothing of what he might be feeling. “You may as well tell me what they’re saying, Astra,” he murmured, his grip like iron around her hips. This was not how she wanted him to find out about her ability to speak to shadows - and she had no idea how she was going to tell him that who she was speaking to right now wasn't those shadows, but something else entirely.

“We need to go,” she whispered, her voice sounding fragile and wobbly, even to her own ears. She was upset - that he’d found out her secret this way, that she’d ever kept secrets from him to begin with, but then again, would he have truly understood? She forged on, trying to not be affected by the sudden blast of cold fury she felt in his body, still so close to her own, but she flinched regardless, knowing she was the cause of the sudden change in him. _I'm so sorry I lied,_ she thought, watching him as she continued. _I'm such a fucking mess, I ruin everything, and now...._ She didn't know what to say, so she just forced herself to talk about what she could do to help this case they were on together.

“The Alchemists...there’s one that controls the shadows, like y--like us,” she corrected herself at the last moment, before saying ‘like you.’ She wouldn’t lie now, not when he knew how much she’d already done so, watching his face flicker with some indecipherable emotion as she continued, her voice trembling further. “If we go now, get a head start, we may be able to find him, and where he’s holding Jurian.”

Azriel released her so suddenly, she almost staggered and fell, her knees still weak from their kiss. Without so much as a second glance, he turned and headed towards the door. “Be ready in five minutes.”

There was so much she wanted to say to him, but in the end, all she could do was what he had asked of her, making sure she was ready to move out in the way he’d commanded in that cold, emotionless voice of his.

 

* * *

 

**The Prison, Western Isles, Night Court Domain**

Cassian stood beside him, lingering in the doorway of the abandoned cell where he turned, staring at the contents on the walls in one slow circle, infuriated that some of the answers had been here all along, abandoned and forgotten, in this ancient penitentiary of sorts. To think, perhaps some of what they were looking for had once been here, under his own control, and he hadn’t noticed something of this magnitude. He hadn't brought Feyre with him; not today, after she was still rattled at the events of last night.

“You sure you can’t convince her to come?” He asked quietly, glancing over to Cassian. The male shrugged, glancing around, his expression easy to interpret. He didn’t like this place, never had, and staring at the walls, Rhysand noted flickers of disgust and fear in his eyes as he noted several symbols he’d no doubt seen on many corpses in the Illyrian Mountain caverns that had been left behind by Stian and the Alchemists. 

“Not sure of much but that,” Cassian commented, finally glancing back his way. “You can’t ask her to come here, Rhys. You know Amren would do many things for you, but returning here, where she rotted for gods knows how long, until she managed to escape? That’s a tall order, Rhys. It’d be like asking Feyre to revisit where Amarantha did her in, and you know it.”

Sighing, Rhysand stood and nodded, figuring it still worth the ask, then slowed as he re-played Cassian’s words in his head. Tilting his gaze back to the symbols etched on the wall, he sucked in a sharp breath as something occurred to him. _It can't be that simple, can it?_  If it was, the realization horrified him even more than he thought. He remembered how Amren had told him she’d managed to escape - by binding herself to a shell, a host form, in order to trick the old wards of this place that she wasn’t a threat. Had this previous prisoner done the same? If so, what else had managed to escape the confines of this mountain? On that note, why go to the Mortal Lands? Why side with humans and not prey on other magical creatures, like lesser or high fae in Prythian?

“At least ask her what her time was like here, how she...did what she did,” he murmured, glancing over at Cassian, pointing to the walls. “I’m beginning to wonder if someone didn’t try to follow in her footsteps. If we don't need to run a more thorough investigation into the history of this place.”

Cassian went still, his eyes going wide as he looked at the symbols once more. “You really think someone else…?”

“Yeah,” Rhysand muttered with a sigh, brushing past him towards the exit, the general following close behind, his gut sinking, wondering what other monsters now roamed the world because of his ancestors. “I’m afraid I do.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Give this to High Lord Spring immediately,” he said, handing over the hastily scribbled message sealed with candle wax to one of the guards down the hall, watching the human stand straighter and give him a surprised glance, noting Azriel was fully dressed. Right then, he didn’t give a shit at the look of surprise and wariness flashing underneath a controlled calmness, still reeling over what he’d learned and done not even minutes ago.

First, Astra could talk to the shadows. She was a damned _Shadowsinger,_ like him.

Second, he’d kissed her. He could still taste her on his tongue and it was taking every facet of his control not to turn and head in the direction of the rooms she occupied - and was getting ready to head out in - and throw her down on the bed and do far more interesting things with his tongue than merely kiss her. Even now, his entire body felt tense, his skin tight and sensitive, aching to claim his mate. The pull of the incomplete bond underneath his skin was driving him half-mad. His body ached for hers, his cock most of all. Suddenly, he felt a flare of empathy for Lucien. The male had endured this for _months?_ How did he _stand_ it?

Casting the human guard a brief glower, satisfied that the mortal took the hint to rouse Tamlin _now_ rather than gawk at him in the hallway, he once more forced his mating urges to the side, concentrating on what Astra had said instead of what she’d been doing when he’d kissed her. Her body had been trembling, _shuddering_ with desire, her moans making him ache all over again, and he ground his teeth so hard he felt his jaw suddenly ache as he thought over her words.

_We need to go. The Alchemist, the one that controls the shadows, like us - If we go now, get a head start, we may be able to find him, and where he’s holding Jurian._

That effectively calmed his lust to a mere annoyance in the back of his mind, rather than an all-encompassing obsession. He tilted his head to the side, staring at a blank space on the opposite side of the hallway, contemplating her words as he waited for her to exit her rooms. He couldn’t go back in there - not now, with the urge to claim her riding his body so hard. Clearly, the shadows had told her of the Alchemist. He found it odd they’d told her and not him of the Alchemist he’d sensed for months and where to find him. He’d always suspected the Mortal Queens to have someone of his ilk in their employ, with his history below the wall and the Isle of Prythian. Even before her brother’s mad claims and alliance with the mortal enemy faction now known as the Alchemists, he’d sensed something was wrong. He’d known it since the time Rhsyand had been in search for the half of the Book of Breathings that the Mortal Queens possessed but refused to give up and he’d gone searching for a way into their holds -- only to not be able to enter. When he hadn’t been able to enter, sensing magic thwarting his efforts, he had attempted to use shadows to at least scout ahead, advise him if the other half of the book had been there, only to have them never respond to him. Down there, near the Mortal Queens’ closest stronghold to the narrow sea that separated Prythian from the mortal mainland, the shadows had been different - _afraid_. 

Now, of course, he knew why -- and Astra could sense him.

A snarl rippled through his throat at the idea that the Alchemist knew of her, too. How long had she been talking to the shadows? Since she’d known Nesta? Before, when she was a youngling, like him? Or after…. _that_ day? He remembered the painted symbols on her skin, the awful hollow feeling in his chest when she’d been taken from him, and felt a sour sensation in his gut that she’d only gained her abilities after Nesta had brought her back, like she’d somehow been tainted by whatever those symbols had managed to do to steal her life and magic in the first place. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles ached. If they touched her, took her from him, he’d kill each and every one of them slowly. He was accustomed to death, had lived around it most of his life, was familiar with --

“Azriel? Is...um, are you ready? I…” The soft, slightly fearful voice of Astra cut him away from the vicious chain of thoughts echoing inside his head and he looked up sharply, surprised she’d managed to get so close without him being aware. He stared, feeling his entire body go rigid, reaching for that mask of control so he wouldn’t scare her, schooling his features. Her question had trailed off to a mute shrug of one shoulder, her eyes dark and full of concern and worry. 

“Yes?” He asked, his tone more brusque than he’d have liked, but he was still imagining the idea of the Alchemists taking her from him. They’d come so close already, had actually succeeded for a few minutes, months ago back in Illyria, and he knew anger blazed in his eyes. She immediately recoiled, stepping away from him and avoiding his gaze, and he forced himself to calm down. _She thinks you’re angry with her,_ a soothing voice stroked inside his mind, feeling the bloom of shadows around his neck, their soft darkness shifting against his collar bones. _Ease her fears, old friend. We did not tell you because she was afraid._

He shifted his eyes over her figure, listening to the shadows that spoke with a gentle somberness he hadn’t heard in months. He tensed, realizing they were right. He hated that she shrank from him in fear, despairing. How would he ever convince her that he wouldn’t harm her? He wanted to cherish her - to have something that belonged only to him, for once in his life. _She is not afraid of you, dear friend. She is afraid of her past repeating itself. You suffered many of the same fears early in life. It has not been so long that you have forgotten what it feels like, has it? That helpless sensation? Your mate wanted control, so we allowed her secret to stay that - a secret. It gave her control and she needed that._ His eyes settled on her face, her downcast eyes, the way she fidgeted with one forearm, twisting the bracer against her skin, her lovely features pinched in worry. _But now, she needs you. Reassure her and she will open to you._

He opened his mouth to say something, but the blasted human guard returned with a sleep-addled and annoyed Tamlin in tow. He forced the snarl and irritation out of his voice and face, simply because this was the High Lord of Spring. The tentative alliance between Night and Spring was still tenuous and he didn’t want Rhysand getting wind that his need to satiate Astra’s fears had made him bark at the High Lord to get lost, so he waited until Tamlin ran a hand through messy locks and looked between him and Astra.

“Now? In the middle of the damned night?” He asked, glancing between him and his mate. Astra tensed, scooting closer and more behind Azriel, and for some reason that both pleased him and made him angry - angry at the High Lord.

“Be happy I summoned you,” Azriel murmured, keeping the tone of his voice completely devoid of emotion, allowing the High Lord to ponder if it was stated as simple fact or meant as an insult. “The shadows have spoken. If we move now, we can sense where Jurian is. The Alchemists have him. Rhysand was afraid of this. He holds many secrets about Prythian. We can’t afford them to get into their hands. We go now. I wanted you aware of the situation, so you can confer at the next High Lord Summit on the status of the mission.”

Tamlin stared at him, his green eyes pulsing golden for a fraction of a second, before he finally nodded and motioned towards the end of the hall. “Be safe.”

Azriel said nothing after that, turning and gripping Astra’s arm, hearing her sharp intake of air just as he tugged her close. “We’ll winnow. No need to show us the door.”

With that, he dissolved from where they’d just been standing, casting them into shadow and darkness, feeling Astra’s form wrap close to his. He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent, and set them in a desperate pace for the coastline. After that, they’d fly south, towards the Mortal Lands, but not before they had a very serious talk - and if he was lucky, a very serious show of emotion for where their intentions stood with their uncemented bond. He realized he didn’t want to go into the Mortal Lands without being mated to her, in the full sense of the word. There was too much at stake if he couldn’t sense her. The time for waiting and patience was over. Astra was _his_ and he’d make damn sure she knew it before they left Prythian.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dungeon Cell, Ephesus, Kingdom of Ionia, Mortal Lands**

Ikalis sat in a chair in the corner of the small dank cell, staring at the chained mortal as a scullery maid attempted to dribble broth down the man known as Jurian’s throat. It didn’t matter, his mind was locked - hidden away from his body with a key that only he knew - and the young woman’s feeble attempts wouldn’t matter in a day or two. She’d been brought in to keep his body clean of disease while Ikalis worked at his master’s command - breaking the man’s mind like an overripe fruit, prying open what secrets he knew of Prythian. 

Despite the messiness of the work involved, he admired how long the man had held out against his magic - the magic his master had created and taught him. It always left him strangely weak afterwards, the elder Alchemist swearing in time he would teach him the spellcraft needed to draw power, something Josias had managed to learn from him, but he still hadn’t, despite being under the elder’s tutelage longer. It didn’t matter, though. His elder would grant him the power when he thought it best and Ikalis had always been patient. He would be pleased to bear this news to his master when he returned from meeting with the Mortal Queens. Morgana had become restless lately, telling them they were taking too long to break the human’s mind, and Ikalis had to admit, it had taken far longer than he expected. He had exaggerated when he’d said a fortnight, expecting the human to only resist a few days at most. It had been almost a week now, and he’d only managed to break through last night.

He’d learned what his master wanted, though. The borders of the Prythian courts, the names and faces of the High Lords and their mates and offspring, those that had them. Now, they knew where they were. All they had to do was scout the best entry point, sneak inside the Isle, and find their targets.

Mulling over the slack face of the man in front of him, watching as worry creased the pretty but simple-minded scullery maid’s brow as she continued to try and feed him, he wondered again if he’d pushed too hard. He’d meant to lock into his mind, not completely destroy it, but he had to admit that by the time the man had finally succumbed, he was impatient and annoyed and had been harsher with his use of magic than intended. 

Standing, he brushed past the scullery maid, touching her hair. “Begone, _dìochuimhnich_.” A strange, blank look overcame the young woman’s face and she stood, exiting the room quietly. He stared down at the slack-jawed man in front of him, snorting his head faintly and shaking his head.

“So much for the great and formidable Jurian. You endured much with Under the Mountain. Amarantha would be pleased with this outcome, I think.” He’d learned of that time, too. Leaning down, he traced a few symbols against the skin of his forehead with his finger, just in case he had to use the man’s clever little face to get back into Prythian. He’d already taken the man’s mind, so what would it matter if he also took his face with a little spell work?

Smiling, he exited the dungeon, intending to intercept his master once he’d returned from the meeting with the Mortal Queens. He would be pleased.

 

* * *

 

**House of Wind, Velaris**

“No,” Amren stated flatly, staring at Rhysand with slitted eyes. “I can’t believe you’d even ask. Have Lucien or one of your other minions write them down and bring them to me if you want them translated, Rhys. I’m not going back in there.”

Rhysand raised a hand, calming her as the Fae woman regarded him coldly. He cast a glance over at Cassian, who merely shrugged, offering him an ‘I told you so’ look. He sighed, scrubbing his face. If Amren wasn’t going to help, she could have simply stayed in Summer, it seemed. “Can you at least tell us about the binding process? What you did? How it was done? Did you take the body of a Fae guard or noble or...make one? I’m very fearful we’ve got another escapee in our midst. We need to know how it was done, or if it can be...undone. If it is undone, what are the risks? When you lost your Fae form, you…” He shrugged, watching Amren’s eyes narrow further as he searched for the right thing to say, “...surprised us with your original form.” He managed to finish.

“It’d be easier answering that if you knew was kind of prisoner was missing in the first place, Rhys,” Amren commented, tilting her head in that odd fashion she’d always been known for, even if she was entirely Fae now, no ‘otherness’ still hiding in her body, aside from the odd remnants of  personality left to her from her old form.

“I know that,” he snapped, scowling, growing impatient at her snips. He knew this was a sensitive topic for her, but he needed answers _yesterday._ The prison’s magic confirmed there hadn’t been a death involved, so that only left escapee. They’d scoured the other cell doors for as long as they’d been able to stand it, after inspecting that one lone abandoned cell, and the occupants inside each were the intended audience. “We can’t afford to wait, though. Not if those Alchemists have a bloody ancient or death god or - hells, I don’t even fucking know - working with them. We need _something_ as a back up plan in case the worst happens.”

Amren’s eyebrows raised at that. “You think they’re back?”

“Jurian’s missing.”

Amren hissed faintly and he nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. “If he’s powerful enough to steal a body and hide inside it, he can pry open Jurian’s mind. Gods know what he’ll get out of him if we don’t get there before he’s totally gone. We need to be able to diffuse at least part of the problem if they get that knowledge and press us again. We’re still not recovered from Hybern.” He glanced at Cassian, who shifted on his feet and came closer to the table.

“The War Chiefs are still struggling to regain control of the war camps,” Cassian murmured, glancing at Amren. “They’re wrangling broken pride, broken families, and it’s still a struggle to get all able-bodied females willing to train. It’s better than it’s been in weeks, but our numbers are still weak.” He flickered his eyes towards Rhysand, then glanced to Amren, who peered between the two of them with a shrug. “Our army isn’t what it used to be, not after the battle with the cauldron. If they pushed us, we could stand to lose.”

Rhysand held his hands up, sighing at the true state of the Night Court. It wouldn’t be uttered outside of this room, still not trusting all the newly-strung alliances between the other courts and his own and not wanting to appear weak to the others, but facts were facts.

Amren stared at them both with a non-pulsed expression on her face. She shrugged once more. “Again, I’d need to know the manner of creature,” she started, glancing at Rhysand when he couldn’t stand it any longer, his fury and frustration mounting until starlight and blankets of darkness scattered all around them, scowling and continuing, “ _But..._ I will try and interpret the symbols if someone brings me copies of them. And I will confer with Lucien on how I managed to escape.”

That surprised him, making Rhysand bristle. She’d tell _Lucien_ and not him? Amren noticed the change and smirked. “He’s shown to have an odd ability to decode the symbols, understand the language. You need someone to be able to speak it, don’t you? Why bother you with the symbols and the needed work to undo the escaped prisoner’s work, as you say, that will take unnecessary time to teach you? This isn’t like Fae magic, Rhys. It’s not inherited, it’s mastered - plain and simple hard work, and he’s leagues ahead of you.”

 _It fucking figures the son of the Spell Cleaver would be good at deciphering dark magic,_ he thought sourly, but nodded all the same. “Fine. He’s in Day, you’ll have to head there.” He glanced to Cassian, watching the male scowl in turn, smirking with a faint hint of glee for what _that_ meant. Feyre was still too rattled to travel there, and she’d begun to experience bouts of morning sickness. “You get to come with me back to that hellhole to copy the script.”

Cassian grumbled, but nodded, and Rhysand watched as Amren rose, giving them both an unflattering glare as she headed out the door. Just as she was leaving, Morrigan came through the door, blinking and watching Amren leave in a huff. “What’s eating her?” She asked, handing over a sealed parchment.

“Don’t ask,” he muttered, taking the parchment. He frowned, not recognizing anything about the paper, breaking the seal and reading. He blinked, feeling the other’s curiosity eating at him with the heaviness of their combined stares on him, looking up from what he was reading.

“Well?” Morrigan asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared. 

He smiled faintly. “Good news, I think.” He rolled the parchment back up, tossing it to Cassian, letting him get first dibs at reading it, watching Morrigan narrow her eyes. “It seems Astra is a Shadowsinger. The shadows told her where to head in the Mortal Lands to find Jurian.”

Morrigan breathed heavily, her eyes closing with a crush of her lids, and he watched her bite her lip and give a tentative smile. She’d grown close to him when she’d stayed down south for a while, with Lucien and Vassa in an abandoned human stronghold that was now part of Tamlin’s land. Vassa was still there, alone and with human guards, assisting where she could with the forts Tamlin had built along the coast.

“Maybe you should go visit Vassa, see how she’s doing, and see if you can help monitor the coast in the event they return? I assume Jurian’s going to be in rough shape, if they manage to get him back in one piece.”

Suddenly, Morrigan went completely stiff, her eyes snapping open, widening in shock. _“No,”_ she suddenly said, the word spoken so venomously that Rhysand blinked, Cassian even staring in surprise. “I...have other obligations here,” she continued, her tone wobbly, suddenly not willing to meet his eyes. “But I will write to her, see if she needs more supplies or assistance from Night.”

With that, she turned and practically ran out the door. Rhysand blinked in shock, glancing to Cassian. “What the hell was that about?”

“Dunno,” Cassian shrugged, glancing over at Rhysand. “Can the trip back to hell wait until tomorrow? It’s late, I want to check in with Nesta.”

“Of course,” he murmured, frowning after where Morrigan had all but sprinted from the room. He needed to check on Feyre anyways. “I’ll see you in the morn. Don’t make it too early.”

Cassian winnowed immediately from the room, leaving Rhysand staring thoughtfully after where Morrigan had run off from.


	8. Chapter 8

 

After a few hours of rough winnowing, Astra tense but secure in his arms, they finally found themselves staring at one of the newly-minted forts Tamlin’s court had constructed along the coastline. It was Fort Galle, the same fort that Jurian had taken months ago for his intelligence gathering in the Mortal Lands, glittering faintly like a golden jewel along the coast, from the torchlight he could see lit along the tall buildings rising from the base of the fort against the dark shadows of the night and the blackness of the sea beyond the cliffs it was perched against.The scent of salt and the lulling sound of waves crashing against rock were all he could tell of the narrow stretch of sea that rose behind it and he inhaled deeply, anchoring himself against the familiar smell.

Astra murmured something under her breath as soon as the guards went on alert, noting their presence, and he was too focused to pick up on what it was, but he kept his grip firm enough on her wrist that wouldn’t allow her to pull away. She sighed but held his hand like he wanted, refusing to let her go. Gripping her hand, he marched towards the fort, pleased that Tamlin must have sent word that they would be coming here the prior week, when Spring learned Azriel was going to be visiting to go over the surveillance logs before setting out across the narrow strip of sea that separated the isle of Prythian from the Mortal continent below, watching the gates to the fort lift as he tugged Astra alongside him.

A Fae guardsman - the commanding officer, Azriel assumed - stepped out and raised a hand. “Spymaster Azriel,” he called out, wearing a thick leather curiass and pantaloons in Spring colors, “We were expecting you. We can--”

“Not now. A single room for the night for myself and my companion,” he stated, cutting the male off mid-sentence. While he had curbed his tongue in front of Tamlin, this male was of little consequence to him. He wanted to talk to Astra _now,_ before her imagination at his reaction to her ‘secret’ had run away from her and she walled off her feelings and mind away behind a mask, or, like Nesta, in a bristly icy exterior. He had witnessed both from her over the past several months and had failed when he had gently attempted to untangle either of them and was out of patience to be gentle with her. She _needed_ to understand where he was coming from in this, remembering Rhysand’s and Cassian’s words as the guardsman blinked, glancing wide-eyed between them both, startled into sudden, complete silence. He ignored Astra's nervous shifting against his side at his obvious rudeness to the guard, annoyed as the male stared at him blankly for a few seconds before finally nodding and motioning for them to both follow. Tugging her wrist, he followed the guardsman into the fort, hearing the gates close behind them both.

_Lay the cards on the table. Woo her. Get to know her, ferret out her fears, prove to her she’s got nothing to fear, and...be honest in what you want from her._

Thinking through all he needed to tell her - things he hadn’t ever told anyone, but would share with her because she was his _mate -_ both filled him with trepidation and arousal. What if he asked too much from her? What if she turned him away? What if, after she learned everything about him, she was disgusted with him? At that moment, he felt the tight damaged skin of his hands twist painfully under the leather gloves he always wore as he held her hand, frowning and biting down the growl that wanted to ripple out of his throat. He wasn’t good sharing the secrets of his past; he held onto and collected secrets, not the other way around, but she was his mate - didn’t she deserve the truth? And if she _did_ accept him, all of him, for the first time in his entire life he would have something he’d never had before, ever, not even something he shared with Rhysand or Cassian or Morrigan or Amren - someone that truly knew him and loved him despite his flaws, his shitty past, , able to see the man he tried to be when he'd been nothing but a mere creature of volatile emotion before, and would be by his side, potentially carrying his children. 

The thought of children made a small shudder flicker through his body, but he was so used to showing no outward afflictions to his troubling thoughts that Astra didn’t even register the shift of his shoulders, it was so minuscule. _Gods, children…._ He swallowed thickly, refusing to glance her way, worried he would either frighten her with the look in his eyes or become emotional. His childhood couldn’t even qualify as one. He hadn't ever been a child, not truly, even when he was one, knowing some that treated animals better than he had been when he was the age most were still sheltered from the world's cruelty, not forced to stare at it, eyes peeled open, unable to look away despite desperately wanting to. He had never even been able to entertain the idea of children, not even able to trust anyone enough to unburden the total extent of his full horrific past to - but with Astra, he suddenly realized he would consider it if she wanted them, and in doing so, would make sure to _never_ treat his children the way he had been treated. 

“Azriel, I can take my own room, I think it’s best we eat and rest, you need sleep since you’ve winnowed us the whole way from Night, and…” Astra started to protest at his side, keeping her voice soft so it wouldn’t travel, but he surged past her excuse with a low growl, tightening his grip on her arm and finally casting her a bold, heated look. Couldn't she _see_ how much he needed her to understand?

 _“No,”_ He all but barked, gentling his tone when her eyes went wide with a mixture of fear and alarm, silently cursing himself for doing exactly what he had just vowed not to - frightening her - rubbing his thumb against the inside of her palm to soothe her fears, “You will stay with me tonight," he continued quickly, his tone soft but brokering no arguments, "We have a lot to discuss and I refuse to cater to these guards when it’s you I want to talk to. You are not getting out of this, Astra. I have a lot to say and you _will_ listen.”

Astra swallowed, her dark beautiful eyes still wide and slightly dampened with wariness, but she nodded and his heart swelled at the bravery she was displaying. Not even a few months ago, she wouldn’t have come within a hundred yards of him. He had adhered to her wishes at the time, knowing that while she didn’t want to speak on the subject, what had been done to her in the mountains of Illyria had traumatized her, and the subsequent fallout for after what Stian had done became public knowledge being no easier to bear. He had wanted more than anything to explain he knew _exactly_ how she had felt, but he knew at the time, she wouldn't have listened to him. It had nearly killed him to stay away from her, but he gave her the space she had fought for and now it was time to end that. She _had_ to know they were mates - he certainly did - and the chafing of the incomplete mating bond had slowly driven him mad over the course of their separation these past few months, but now, so close to his goal of claiming her, he would not be pushed away any longer. Watching her keeping hold of his hand and mutely nodding in agreement as the fear slowly dissolved in her eyes humbled him. He did not deserve this female.

“This way,” the guardsman said, his tone crisp, as if Azriel’s earlier harsh command had slightly offended him, but Azriel ignored the coolness of his words, just wanting to find the room the male promised and get Astra alone. He ignored the stares of the other guardsmen that worked the fort - which consisted of a few tall stone-faced towers lined by a thick wooden fence, with tiny open windows that faced the sea along the towers themselves, able to observe the coast but constructed in a way that any attacking invader would have to work diligently to infiltrate. He was impressed at the construction. Another time, perhaps, when he wasn’t desperate to talk to his mate, he would compliment the men and the High Lord on their ingenuity, but that would have to come later, after he had Astra alone and aware of exactly what he wanted from her.

Stepping inside the largest of the stone-laced towers, he kept his fingers laced with Astra’s as they climbed up a spiral staircase in the corner of the main ground floor, ignoring the bystanders that glanced at them curiously as they entered, studying their surroundings as the male took them up a few flights then wandered down a narrow hallway in what Azriel assumed was the middle of the tower, gesturing to a door at the end of the hall. 

“Meant for storage, but we cleaned it out when the High Lord sent notice that you’d be joining us before heading south,” the guardsman commented, stepping out of the way as Azriel brushed past him with Astra in hand, reaching for the door. “I’ll have a maid leave a tray of food outside the door in a few hours if you’re up for it. We don’t serve food outside of meal times, and that’ll be about when breakfast is served. Suppose we won’t be seeing you until the morning, I’m reckon to guess. In any event, have a good eve and we’ll speak then.”

Azriel nodded, stepping into the room and staring around the narrow rectangular room, noting the faintly curved stone walls at the opposite end, the remaining ones made of rough wood. There was a simple wooden bed frame with a thick hay mattress topped with a tight leather top, keeping the strands of dried grass from pestering the occupant, the top loaded with a pile of furs. The room held little else - no fireplace, a simple hanging lantern in the corner, already lit. It was more than adequate and he briefly nodded at the guardsman, watching the male return the nod and head towards the stairs as he tugged Astra inside, closing the door and summoning the shadows, feeling them lick at his collar gently, saying nothing, as if realizing the seriousness of the moment.

 _Cloak this room from all eyes and ears. Make sure no one hears anything said,_ he commanded, feeling them lick against his skin to comply before vanishing. He watched as they covered the windows, thickening along the wooden walls and door, before turning to look at where Astra stood in the center of the room, shifting slightly on her feet, her back to him as she stared at the bed. He frowned, noting her trembling form, stepping forward to calm her, tensing when she whirled and faced him, her soft features blanched in obvious alarm.

“I can explain,” she started, her voice whisper-soft and garbled as she spoke in rapid-fire succession, trying to blurt out her reasons for keeping her gift hidden from him. It pained him to see her so distraught, but she refused to stop even when he held up a hand to silence her, launching into her reasoning. “I know it was wrong not to tell you, but I was _so afraid_ , Azriel, and I know I should’ve come to you, since you of all people would understand, b-but….b-but I...I…” She shuddered, her eyes filled with silent pleading, and then she suddenly burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

Unable to stand the sight of her in distress, he immediately moved for her, tugging off his weapons belt and letting it clatter to the floor, pulling her into a gentle but thorough hug. Running his hands through her hair, murmuring he wasn’t angry with her, he noted with fierce pleasure that she immediately wrapped her arms around him and sobbed against his chest, burying her face in his curiass. “It’s alright, Astra,” he murmured against her ear, feeling her tremble as he spoke, “I am not mad. There is nothing to forgive. I could never be mad at you for that. Please, calm yourself, everything is fine. Nothing is wrong. I understand.”

Resting his cheek against the top of her head, he let her cry, continuing to murmur soft words of endearment that he was sure at this point that she didn’t hear over the force of her sobs, but felt she needed to hear the sound of his voice all the same and the soothing tone he used, letting it sink in that he wasn’t angry with her. He, more than anyone, understood what she was going through, waiting until she’d exhausted herself and quieted before truly speaking what was on his mind. 

“I’m s-so s-sorry,” she finally muttered, her words slurred with with exhaustion, tear-clogged and pitifully low. He shook his head, stroking her cheek and glancing at the bed. Without asking, he leaned down slightly, scooping her up into his arms, pleased when she wrapped her own around his neck, moving to the bed. She was so depleted from her tears that she didn’t even object when he began to strip her weapons belt and leathers from her, intending to tuck her into the bed.

When he uncovered her right arm, loosening the buckles of the bracer straps, he stilled as he stared at the vibrant tattoo that embellished her forearm. Frowning, tracing his fingers over the line work of what resembled rows of teeth, he felt her stiffen in his arms and decided to dismiss it, worried she would wall off her emotions and shut him out. Working quickly, making sure to keep his gaze averted and tug the furs over her body once she was stripped down, he settled her into the bed before rising himself, gathering her discarded items and setting them against the far wall away from the bed, organizing them as he went.

Realizing she had grown quiet, he looked back at her, surprised to see her staring at him with a frankness he hadn’t seen in her inspection since the first time they’d met. It had been only once, after that initial greeting back in Cassian's cabin Nesta had been boarding in back in Illyria, over a tea she was steeping for Nesta to drink that would nurse the bruises she had gained during a particularly rough training lesson. She had not looked at him in the same way since, drawn too far into the growing discord in Illyria at the time, so that initial meeting had always remained crystal clear in his mind. The second he'd laid eyes on her, something in his gut had shifted, and he _knew._  He had been too afraid to even cater to the idea in his own mind, never expecting to be lucky enough to meet his mate, but then - there she was.

And again, her she was now, staring at him like she had all those months ago, making him think back to the moment he'd caught sight of her and had known. He had never asked his friends if they'd felt that immediate pull upon seeing their mate, but he suspected, on some unconscious level, they had. Staring at her, enjoying the directness of her gaze, despite her obvious exhaustion and the reddened puffiness of her eyes, made his entire body light up with arousal, his gut flickering into a warm, molten need that nestled deep inside his chest. Unable to break her gaze, he turned fully towards her and reached up for the buckles to his own leathers, intending to undress, slowing his movements enough that if the idea bothered her, she only had to object and he would stop.

His heart racing, he began to peel out of his own leathers, waiting for her to tell him to stop, but she didn’t. When he was down to nothing but his gloves, he took them off too, setting them beside her own items, willing his body to not show the flickers of arousal that burned in his gut as he came to the other side of the bed, intending to slip in and merely hold her against him before beginning what he wanted to say. He stopped when he heard her soft exhale of shock when she noted his scars.

Astra gasped, sitting up, her dark eyes wide and her long dark hair braided and sliding against one shoulder, clutching the furs to her chest as she finally saw his hands for the first time, her gaze steadily taking in the mangled, tight scars covering both hands; all his fingers, his palms, the backs of his hands, knowing all too well what she was seeing. The skin was tight, shiny, ragged and blotched horribly, discolored in many places. He had no fingernails, either. They were truly hideous and he almost regretted taking off his gloves, but he wanted her to see him, truly _see_ him - superficial flaws, deeply buried wounds that were still merely half-healed, waiting for someone like her to help him fully let go and close that part of his past - before he claimed her. 

“ _Oh my gods,_ Azriel, I…” She winched, looking up into his face, her eyes soft and sad, reaching out for him, hands raised. He swallowed, standing there like a fool, not knowing what to do - should he put his gloves back on? Should he tell her what happened? Should he brush over the horrible details of that day and lie about the fact that they still hurt? Every damn day, they hurt, having to stretch each finger for several minutes upon waking, wearing special gloves with a pain-numbing oil soaked into the hides of the gloves, just so the scars didn’t stiffen and make his hands unusable. He never spoke about his hands, even when he was asked, which wasn't often, but he wanted to tell her and would tell her how he got the scars, if she asked.

Instead of recoiling in disgust or shock like most did when they saw the full extent of the damage, she took his hands in her own and gently ran her fingers over each, looking up at him with a renewed sheen of tears in her eyes. He jolted faintly, not able to smother the reaction, speechless. She felt pain on his behalf, for the state of his hands? He watched as she turned them, inspecting each of them thoroughly, her fingers lingering in spots he was shocked she could note - the areas of his hands that hurt him the most; the knuckles, the long spaces of skin between the digits of each finger, the center of his palm and the back of his hand where the scars pulled the most when he trained, which he did daily. Some days, they were curved like claws, unable to withstand the pain and fully extend them when he hadn't had time to make the pain-numbing oil he used and soak his gloves.

Unable to handle her tenderness, he watched with an alien-like fascination as something inside him shattered at her kindness, his hands beginning to shake when they never did with anyone else. He knew all about walls and showing nothing of what he was feeling to the outside world, not even his best friends, but with a few simple touches Astra had broken down his defenses. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like an observer looking in, desperate to belong wholly to someone, and her acceptance of his scarred, misshapen and hideous hands made him hope that she would even accept his past. It wasn’t a pretty one, as mangled as his hands, perhaps worse. 

Overcome with emotion and unable to say anything, his throat closing up as he struggled to not react in a way that would frighten her, he squeezed her own reassuringly before pulling one gently out of her grip, gesturing that he wanted to join her. “May I?” He finally managed to ask, his tone soft, voice thick with emotion and barely recognizable. When she failed to say anything at first, he amended softly, “Just to hold you. I want to talk...first. But make no mistake, if you let me join you, Astra, I want you... _all_ of you. You are my mate and I want you...very badly.”

She stared at him, not dropping her gaze to stare over his body, which was also scarred but not nearly unrecognizable like his hands were, and he watched with rapt attention as her cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, even as her expression remained sober. Finally, she nodded with a slow swallow, her throat bobbing, raising the edge of the furs on his side, and he couldn’t help the heated, pleased grin that spread across his face as he slipped into the bed, reaching for her.

Again, she surprised him with how much she allowed him to get away with, tugging her so close their entire sides touched. He could feel the soft weight of one of her breasts against his ribcage, the dark rosy nipples he’d briefly witnessed peaked and rubbing along his torso, the other tucked against his back, where his shoulder blade merged with his back. Her thigh was tucked across his hips, his cock pressed against her thigh, thickening slightly at the touch, the crisp curls of her sex pressed against his own hipbone, but he didn’t move to touch her anywhere else, just content she was pressed so tight without objection. He felt his entire body relax, becoming boneless in relief, realizing that perhaps in her own way it was finally time to give in to what was between them. She seemed comfortable with him, after he had shown her that he wasn’t upset she had kept her shadowsinger gifts from him, and silently agreeing that their mating had been postponed too long.

For a while, they said nothing, just laying there together. For now, he was content with this - she was bared to him, with him in a bed - skin to skin - and hadn’t turned him away when he mentioned he knew of the mating bond and she’d seen his scarred hands. Eventually, he noted her free arm brushing across his chest as she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. 

“You must think I’m a fool,” she murmured wryly. “And I honestly can’t blame you if you do. I just...it’s hard to explain. Thanks for, um, letting me sort of cry it out all over you. I just, hells, I was worried you wouldn’t understand, but that’s just an excuse. I was scared of you, of what this represented, if you’d even want me after everything that went down with my brother. Can you...forgive me? Nesta saw me before I left, told me what an idiot I was being. I should have listened, but I felt like I’d dug myself in so deep, I didn’t even know where to begin with you to get us back on track. I never honestly meant to deceive you, it’s just….” She made a frustrated sound, then went quiet. 

Every word he heard made his heart sing. She hadn’t wanted to reject the mating, she had been worried that _he_ would find _her_ unworthy. He chuckled at the thought, tilting his head to place a kiss against the top of her head, feeling immense relief flood his system as he tugged her closer, pleased when she didn’t pull away. “It’s alright. You’re not a fool,” he murmured again, using the same words from before, when she’d been overcome with emotion and shame, since they were as true now as they had been minutes before. “You’ve endured a lot. I didn’t want to push you into anything you didn’t want to do and I knew you had to cope with the ramifications of what you had been put through. There’s nothing to forgive.”

Astra snorted faintly and he raised his eyebrows, feeling her head tilt, looking up at him. He tilted his head down, staring at her with amusement and surprise, feeling strangely free by not shielding his expressions. She reached up, tracing a finger along his eyebrows, making him briefly frown and lower them, curious why she seemed so enraptured at his expressions, despite the faint smile that tugged at her lips. “What?” He asked, when she began to chuckle and grin broadly, a strange light entering her eyes had hadn’t ever seen before - maybe once, when she’d unabashedly had checked out his form when she’d been making that pot of tea, but not since then, and even then, he wasn’t sure if it was the same light that had been in her eyes at the time - watching her shrug a shoulder. 

“I can finally tell what you’re thinking. Has anyone ever told you that you have an amazing poker face?” She traced his frown, nibbling her lower lip between her teeth, and he felt his cock grow hot, pressing against her thigh as he studied the action with intensity.

“A time or two, yes,” he said, perfectly serious, blinking and once more raising his eyebrows when she smacked his shoulder, her laughter spurring his arousal even further. If she didn’t stop looking at him like that - like he was handsome and she wanted him - he would be full mast in moments. Desperate for control, he thickly asked what had made her snort, shifting his attention away from his nagging cock and what she had meant moments ago. “Why do you sound so surprised I understood your distance to me these past few months?”

“Well, for starters, I’m not blonde and stacked,” she commented dryly, despite humor lacing her tone. Even more confused than before, he stared at her in absolute cluelessness, until she once more laughed and he bit back a groan when her thigh moved faintly as she sat up further, pushing herself onto her elbows, his cock stiffening further against her leg. To make matters worse, she appeared oblivious to the effect she had on him.

“Hello? Morrigan? Elain? I’ve heard the rumors,” she commented, giving him a droll stare. He blinked, his eyes finally widening when he was able to tear his eyes away from the fact he could almost see her nipples, from where her breasts were pressed against his chest. _Wait, what do they have to do with_  -- he thought, stopping his train of thought when it finally registered what she was saying. _What the hell?_

“ _What?_ What do they have to do with our mating?” He rasped thickly, struggling to hold himself back from rolling atop her and kissing her senseless, or lowering his mouth between her thighs. Gods, he wanted her, and she was right _there._ For a second, he could almost swear he could smell the scent of her arousal perfuming the air. Unable to help it, he shifted against her, his cock completely unapologetic in its reaction to her nearness, fully hard and aroused, throbbing insistently between his legs and pressing against her thigh. _Focus,_ he demanded of himself, watching her smirk at him and roll her eyes.

“You’ve been after Morrigan for ages, Azriel. It’s practically common knowledge, so don’t even bother to deny it. And…” She pinkened, lowered her eyes, looking insecure for the first time since she’d started this train of thought, shrugging a shoulder. “I’ve heard how beautiful Elain is and knew you befriended her. Nesta told me and she and Feyre both are also beautiful, so I assumed you...liked that sort of thing. I figured it had to be pretty shitty luck that you ended up mated to a boring Illyrian female with typical dark features. I'm not anything like either of those women and I was worried you' be...disappointed.”

He stared, blinking slowly, realizing she was serious. Astra thought she was somehow _beneath_ these other Fae females? Because she was Illyrian and had dark chocolate tresses, kohl-black eyes, and buttery olive skin? How could she think, that despite displaying the trademark coloring of an Illyrian, she wasn’t uniquely beautiful and unparalleled to others because she was his _mate?_

Suddenly, talking wasn’t important to him. That could come later. Right then, he needed to show her what she meant to him, how she twisted up his insides and left him barely in control of his faculties from how much he wanted her. 

Reaching down and gripping her leg, he pressed it tightly against his cock, grinding it into the softness of her inner thigh, letting a growl ripple past his throat. “Neither one of those women get this kind of response out of me. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to take my cock in my own hand when I thought about you and couldn’t stop? It was _torture_ waiting for you. You are _mine,_ Astra. **_Mine._ ** Not them, _you._ I have dreamed of licking you until you scream, fucking you until you cry my name, and any number of other things I have never once thought of with either of those women.”

Watching her eyes widen, the pools of her dark eyes sharpening with arousal as he went on, spurred him into action, rolling atop her and spreading her thighs, pressing his cock against her folds. His nostrils flared in satisfaction at how wet she already was, not needing any further encouragement to be ready to take him. Rocking his hips and dragging the tip of his erection against her clit, he felt a fierce tug of male pride as she shuddered and moaned softly from underneath him at his actions, the noise nearly made him come on the spot. Steeling himself to make sure she found pleasure first, he continued teasing her, eating up her responses as he tugged his mouth to her ear, tracing the shell of it with his tongue. “Do you want me? I want you, Astra. I don’t give a shit about any of it - the shadows, the secrets, your past, Illyria - none of it. I want you to be _mine._ Will you accept me?”

She swallowed and he canted his hips once more, fully willing to play dirty, teasing his cockhead against her clit and the opening of her vagina, dragging his shaft along her slick folds and thrusting against them, not entering her, teasing her with the promise of how thoroughly he intended to pleasure her. Gods, she was so fucking wet, a groan escaping him before he could help it, leaning down and biting against the side of her neck. “ _Accept me,_ Astra. Accept me as your mate. _Please._ ”

“Yes,” she whispered, and he went rigid, quickly adjusting his angle the moment he heard those words, unable to stop what came next - thrusting hard, deep; drilling down inside the warm depths of her body, sheathing himself in one vicious stroke. Any control he thought he had dissolved in the instant he heard her loud moan of pleasure, felt her body squeeze in surprise around his own as he sunk into her, and he braced himself over her, pounding into that heat, wanting it more than his next breath, unable to comprehend the pleasure.

He’d fucked women - not many, but enough to know fleeting satisfaction - but _this_ was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He hissed, growling, sounding for all intents and purposes like an animal, rutting deep in the female that fate had decided was his - his equal, his _mate_ \- and the way she squeezed tightly around him, her arousal like a thick warm cream clinging to his cock as he stroked himself deep inside her, had him instantly on edge, ready to pour his release into her. She didn’t care that he was the Spymaster of the Night Court, that he instilled fear in countless people across Prythian, that he'd done horrific acts in the name of his High Lord and most likely would continue to do so, that his hands were mangled and scarred and grotesque and his past was a nightmare almost too horrible to be spoken of. Her legs anchored around his hips and she squeezed, pulling him closer, forcing his cock to stay deep, telling him without words that she wanted him. He had to physically lift her hips off the bed with the force of his thrusts to root as deep as he wanted to go, letting out a roar of greedy pleasure when her cries escalated, her channel tightening further around his cock, until finally - when he felt the threads of his own orgasm begin to loosen, past the point of no return - her body spasmed and pulsed around him, telling him she was climaxing.

What he felt next obliterated him. His cock seized as he pressed deep, his body exploding, his cock spurting endlessly, satisfaction welling so deep, it seemed endless, when he spilled inside her, coating her with his seed, and the bonds that had drove him crazy with lust and longing finally knitted,  forging the mating bond into something completely unbreakable, binding her to him forever, easing that ache inside him to nothing but rapturous completion.

He couldn’t stop, knowing he’d just spent himself to the point he could barely remember his own name. Astra seemed in a similar state, barely able to form words as she clung to him, sobbing his name like he'd promised her she would be doing, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs around his hips, her channel clamped tight on his cock that once more stiffened to full mast, despite just launching him into the best orgasm of his life. _Fuck her again,_ his thoughts raged. _Again and again and again, until she'll never forget what it feels like to be thoroughly taken by her mate._

“Azriel, I need…” Astra mewled, panting, and he groaned, lowering his mouth to hers to tell her he agreed, feeling the same things she was. _So this is what mating madness feels like,_ he thought rapturously, unable to stop. 

“I know,” he growled against her lips, before kissing her and beginning to thrust all over again. The bond was sealed, he could suddenly feel her _everywhere,_ but his needs were far from satisfied. “Again...and again...and again...until you tell me to stop,” he promised darkly, hearing her moan as he began to once more move atop her, pleased when she shuddered and panted his name, opening herself to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're curious what Astra's tattoo looks like, [this](https://i.ibb.co/VHkm0kX/teeth-spiral-tattoo.jpg) is the inspiration I took for the size and design.


	9. Chapter 9

Upon waking, Astra realized two things. One, she was an idiot for ever doubting mating with Azriel would be anything less than amazing. She was deliciously sore in places she didn’t even think it was possible to be sore in, and two, Azriel’s dick was hard again. She slowly opened her eyes, not moving, not even sure she  _ could _ move if she was being honest, suddenly blinking and staring in growing shock at what she was seeing clinging to the high walls of their narrow room in the largest of Fort Galle’s towers. Seeing that took her mind completely off what she'd done the night before - binding herself as a mate to the Night Court's Spymaster.

_ What the actual hell?  _ She didn’t scream, because she could tell Azriel was still asleep, and she wanted him to stay sleep. When she first started to stir awake, she wasn’t sure why she had woken up, she was exhausted, but what she was staring at seemed to answer that question for her. Up over head, completely exposed now, no longer covered in shadows, was the creature she’d visited in the Spring Lands. It was staring down at her with three pairs of two eyes - across three heads, tilting each in different directions as it inspected them both in idle curiosity. It must’ve sensed her being awake, tilting each head, one after another, to look her way. Astra got the sense it was amused, almost pleased to see her, and it was a good thing she remembered she wanted to keep quiet so her mate could sleep, because she still hadn’t thought of  _ how  _ she was going to explain this to him.

_ Um, you’re staring, _  she told it _.  _ She quickly looked back to the bed, breaking her stare with the monster, relieved both her and Azriel’s forms were covered with the furs that had been provided. She wasn’t sure if she could handle Azriel’s erection or one of her tits being exposed and the idea of the monster having been staring at either of them naked and asleep.  _ How long have you been…? _ She didn’t know what to say to it - S _taring? Ogling? Creeping on them naked in bed?_ \- gesturing with her right arm towards where Bryaxis was perched, blinking at the blank expanse of skin on said arm before looking back at the creature in surprise. It seemed when he was “out and about” fully in the flesh, her tattoo was gone. So, the tattoo was when he was 'resting' inside her, she guessed? The more she thought about that, the more she was kind of icked out, but it was a moot point now, she supposed.  _ I really should’ve thought this through before just letting him shack up inside my body,  _ she grumbled at herself. Flashing one more quick glance Azriel’s way, she was thankful he looked completely out of it. It also tickled her to note he wasn’t a snorer, only a soft exhale barely heard as he breathed during his slumber.  _ For that alone, you’re the best mate a girl could ask for.  _

She looked back Bryaxis’ way, noting he had shifted, now almost hanging entirely upside down, all three of his heads staring at her. He hadn’t answered her question, so she repeated it, watching him purr faintly. Worried he would wake Azriel - wouldn’t that be an especially shitty way to wake up? - she brought a finger to her lips, tapping her temple, asking him to mind-talk to her and keep his noises to a minimum. The creature snorted, but did as she asked.

**_He won’t hear me, Astra. Don’t worry. I’ve been awake since after you two slept. I feel refreshed. and wanted to stretch my form._   **She noted along his back, he had some wicked looking wings that resembled her own, except with long talons at various tips, like claws. His body was massive; part large cat, part reptilian creature, part bear perhaps? It was hard to tell. Each leg seemed to end in talons with digits or hooves, all of which looked lethal. ** _Are we leaving soon? Your window is closing._**

Her forehead wrinkled as she stared, unable to tear her gaze away. He was fascinating, if horrific, to look at. Every time she stared, she swore he changed a little, his fur and scales and feathers rippling into something else - some other skin type, muscle group, or appendage - a mishmash of several things all at once, like she had suspected when she had touched him when he was shrouded in shadow. She’d never seen a creature like him before, he almost appeared like a mixture of many animals she’d seen in the wild before, merged into a wholly new beast that defied natural physics.  _ How won’t he hear you?  _  She blinked, confused, glancing between her sleeping mate and the creature hovering just a few feet away.  _ You’re huge and purring as loud as a steam boat in Velaris.  _

Bryaxis just seemed further amused, one head - the one that resembled a large predatory cat with gleaming yellow eyes with a red slit iris at its center - flashing a grin that showed a row of sharp fangs before one of his tails, this one looking almost lizard-like, flicked faintly against the walls his feet gripped him to. Against his ankles, the shadows clung thickly, seeming thicker around the creature itself, despite him being fully exposed. Considering all her marbles still seemed in place, she realized he had been right - now bonded to him, she could stare at his real form and not lose her mind. That, she decided, would come in handy later. **_My cousins,_  ** He replied, **_they_** ** _shield me from the Shadowsinger since I asked them to. They can shield you too, if you ask them. Even from him, if you choose to keep our bond a secret._**

Astra frowned, not really keen on keeping more secrets from Azriel after what had occurred last night. He’d been so damned  _ intense,  _ so ready to share something heavy with her - she had seen the look of desperation and longing in his eyes before he’d been unable to resist the urge of the mating bond, not that she had much room to talk after all but breaking down on him, ugly sobs and all, and him being so damned considerate about the whole thing.  She didn’t want to hide this development from him but worried how to tell him. They’d done the irrevocable last night, having satisfied the mating bond. He was bound to her for the rest of his life, and hers to his, and if she woke him up only to say ‘Surprise! There’s more!,’ she was worried about how he would react. Despite plunging head first into this mating bond with him without thinking about it, she didn't regret it. He had said, in clear blunt terms, he didn't care what anyone else thought of their mating, he wanted her. That made all her protests at their bond just simply fade away into useless excuses and chatter in the back of her mind. How could she say no to that? If she didn't know any better, she'd swear Azriel was already in love with her. Did she love him? 

_ I don’t want to keep you secret, but I’m not sure exactly how I should tell him, either,  _ she admitted to Bryaxis with an internal sigh, glancing over at Azriel, who was still spread across most of the bed, his arms tucked around her middle, his hips pressed against her own. The fringe of dark glossy hair that played across his brow fully obscured his eyes, but she could see from the steady slow rise and fall of his chest, he was still asleep. A content, balmy happiness stole over her and she smiled at the sight of him. He’d actually  _ trembled _ before taking her last night - and he’d smiled, frowned, looked somewhat scared even at one point. She had a feeling she’d seen more of Azriel last night than anyone had, in a long long time, including the true state of his hands, and she didn’t want to ruin that. To think that she’d been frightened of that intensity once, it almost seemed comical. Seeing how nervous he had been had settled her mind; she could handle his intensity knowing it wasn't directed at her. Thinking back on his hands, she reminded herself to talk to him about what balms he was using to deal with the pain. They'd met when she was healing Nesta's bruises, why hadn't he asked her what he could do about his hands? She had some ideas in regards to that, too. That could come later, though. Right now, she had bigger problems - like a creature of nightmare being bound to her and how to broach the subject to her mate.

She glanced back once more to Bryaxis, huffing faintly.  _ In any event, can you...wait to come out and just stay on my skin and in my head until I either need you or I’m ready to explain you? You’re kind of a big deal back home and he just learned I can talk to your...uh...cousins...and I am not really wanting to explain not only can I talk to shadows, but also the grand daddy of nightmare fuel himself. Just let me figure out how I can bring you up after he wakes and I talk to him and we’ll go from there. _

**_You did not do much talking last night, how do you know he will want this talk when he wakes? He was very...tenacious._ ** For a creature that was a literal living nightmare, he almost looked chagrined, all three heads flashing various amounts of teeth that in any other situation except this one would’ve scared the shit out of her. Instead, she felt her entire face flame, scowling at him with horror and embarrassment. Cauldron Above, had he  _heard_ them last night?!

_ So help me, if you were peeping on us last night, _  she suddenly raged, glaring at him furiously,  _ you can take this bond and shove it up your a-- _

**_No, you misread me._**  She could have sworn he suddenly huffed in animal-like laughter. **_I_** ** _cannot spy when I am bound to your skin, but I can filter your thoughts slightly when I sleep inside your skin after several hours and any new knowledge you learn when you do not summon me. You did not learn any new knowledge of your mate, so I assumed you were doing other things._** Bryaxis’ eyes blinked, one after another after another - first the centered predatory cat face, then the head to the right, a pale-scaled lizard face with large curved horns, and lastly the head to the left, another lizard-like face of green scales and skin - three sets of grins appearing in sequential order. **_Unless you wish to go into details. I admit, it’s been a while since I’ve mated, none of my kind live on this plane, and I am curious if…_**

_ Just-- NO.  _ She groaned softly, covering her eyes with her free hand. Only she would be having this discussion with a freaking monster while her mate slept beside her in bed before venturing into unknown hostile territory, on the eve of what might be a life or death mission.  _ This is not happening and we’re not talking about that. Like...ever.  _

Cauldron save her, the infamous Bryaxis was teasing her and all bout asking her if she liked being boned by the Spymaster. Could this get any weirder? She slowly blinked, glancing up at him with a frown as something else he had said hit her. _Wait, you said my window is closing. How do you know any of this? How do you know who we’re after? What the hell is going on?_

Bryaxis’ eyes narrowed and each head growled, quite loudly, but she trusted when he said that the shadows - his cousins, he had referred to them as such - would keep his sounds quiet from Azriel, remembering that Azriel had summoned the shadows himself last night and they hadn’t heard anything outside after that, so she had assumed it worked both ways, no one could hear them either, and they’d been _loud_ in the four times Azriel had managed to take her before they both fell into an exhausted sleep, watching him warily. **_One of the Alchemists...I know him, sense him._** He replied, his tone sounding hostile and vicious, deadly.

Unease prickled along her spine as her eyes went wide.  _ Wait, what? _

Bryaxis stared at her in barely subdued wrath.  **_He is my brother. He is the reason I was trapped in that prison of words. He trapped me because I trapped him, but he managed to escape. That’s what he does, what he did where we both came from. I have waited a very long time to see this through, Astra. We must end him._ **

Astra stared, barely able to breathe with the implications of what he was saying. One of the Alchemists was…. _what_ exactly? A monster like Bryaxis? If Bryaxis was a monster of nightmare, then what the hell was his brother a monster of? He was responsible for trapping Bryaxis in the library within Velaris? Just what kind of shit had she signed herself up for?

_ End him how?  _ She asked, glancing sidelong at Azriel, suspecting he had always intended to do the same thing that she somehow knew Bryaxis would answer with.

**_You know how,_ ** the creature growled a few moments later.  **_By killing him. He is a plague on this world, like he was on mine._ **

She simply sat there numbly, blinking and trying to process just how  _ big  _ this mission had suddenly become. Take on a creature like Bryaxis, that was somehow leading the Alchemists? Did that mean that this creature was like Bryaxis and had a host, like him? If that was the case, was the host like her - fully cognizant, or had this creature stripped his mind completely, using his body like a puppet? The mere thought made her shudder, thankful and yet wary of what she had unknowingly exposed herself to when allowing Bryaxis to join with her, despite remembering how he treated her that night. In some ways, he was similar to Azriel - mostly beast, but with enough threads of unmistakable empathy that she didn't regret her choice to merge with him, just in a different way. As she realized what Bryaxis was saying, realizing what they were up against, she thought of her brother - of how damaged he was, thanks to their father's secret life and what he had done to Stian over the years, how they had taken advantage of her brother’s unstable mental state and exploited it to do horrific things to her people and Astra’s own family, to Prythian as a whole, and she was suddenly furious on their behalf.

Glancing up at Bryaxis with the full force of her rage in her eyes, she nodded, gesturing to her forearm.  _ Then we better get to work. Let me wake up Azriel, tell him what’s going on, introduce you to him, and then we take this fight to your brother and end this once and for all. _

Bryaxis grinned again, the expression sending a faint shudder through her body at the look on each of his faces, before detaching himself from the wall, sinuously merging with shadow, swirling into the dense black cloud she was familiar with and reattaching himself to her arm, in the tattoo pattern she’d begun to admire.

**_This is why I knew I made a good choice with you, Astra Haavik. You are strong._ **

 

* * *

 

**The Mortal Lands, Ephesus, Capital City of Ionia, Alchemist Headquarters**

 

Ikalis waited patiently, his robes tucked around him, sitting in one of the spare tufted chairs in his master’s large study. The meeting with the Mortal Queens was still going, from what the head servants had last told him, so he amused himself thinking back to how he had finally managed to break the human ally of the Fae creatures he despised so much. It had been the most fun he’d had in years.

Suddenly, he felt the room grow darker, colder, more silent. He looked up from where his gaze had been tilted to the floor while he had been lost in thought, seeing his master standing there, every spare inch of skin tucked meticulously underneath endless length of black linen cloth, his robes so loose they trailed across the cobbled stones beneath their feet like a gothic train. 

“My liege,” Ikalis murmured, rising and bowing briefly, watching as the older man noted him, his over-sized hood tilting briefly his way as he greeted his presence, before heading to the main chair and desk that sat nearby. 

“Ikalis,” He murmured, his voice always sounding so deep, almost raspy, like his vocal chords were dry or he was forcing himself to talk. Ikalis assumed this was like any other lesson, since his master didn’t speak often, so he would be heedful to make sure his words counted. If he asked the wrong questions, his master would simply not answer, the shadows that trailed him compelling him to leave or lose consciousness entirely, and when he woke, his master would tell him their enemies would do far worse than he did and he should sharpen his mind to ask only the most pertinent of questions. “What do you have for me today?”

“I have cracked the human’s mind,” he said with no small amount of pride, watching his master stare his direction for a long period of time, pleased when a small suppressed laugh elicited beyond the overlarge hood.

“Good. Show me….everything.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Dungeon Cell, Ephesus,  Kingdom of Ionia, Mortal Lands**

 

_ “Come on, dammit, drink!”  _ The woman hissed, holding the cup to the man’s slack lips. He barely blinked, staring straight ahead, and she growled faintly in frustration, flicking the wet contents of the cup out across the stone floor, not wanting to risk choking the man by force feeding him the drink, only for it to go down his trachea and not his esophagus. She sighed, tucking the small clay cup into the pocket in her skirts, keeping the thin linen cloak about her shoulders pulled tight.

Eyeballing him, she shook her head, praying he was lighter than he looked. Just to be safe, she reached into her pocket, taking a elderberry she had plucked off a bush on the way down to the dungeon cell she had bribed her way into, drawing something across his chest when she pulled his shirt away from his collar bones.  _ There,  _ she thought,  _ at least that will help at least a little. _

Muttering the incantation under her breath, she watched as the man’s muscles stiffened, then began to respond to her demands. She hated to do it, but if she didn’t get him out of here soon, the ones who had been working on him might be back and she didn’t want to risk that and he was too damned heavy to drag out of here by herself. Jurian was almost two heads taller than she was and easily three stones more in weight alone. She’d already risked too much posing as a scullery maid, pretending to be dim-witted while that beast of a man had tried swiping her memories from her head -  _ Hah! Good luck there, asshole -  _ and if she stayed any longer, she risked exposing herself.

“Come on, time to go,” she whispered, tugging him into a stand. She’d already used a rough set of keys provided to her before she had come all this way to see if the rumors were true, he was being held by the Alchemists, the ones that threatened Prythian, and when it turned out to be fact, she’d acted in the way her people would have wanted her to. “I’m sorry for forcing your body against your will, but I doubt you’ll even remember this,” she whispered, taking the man’s hand and squeezing it, before grabbing his bedroll, tearing part of it, and layering it over his face like a scarf, “Once I get you out of whatever it is they have you under, I’ll explain everything. Oh, and Lady Miryam sends her regards.”

Tugging on his hand, she peered out the door of the cell, pulling him away from the main guard post, towards the sewers. It was about to become a very disgusting, very smelly journey, but she was doing what her Lady would have wanted, rescuing the General known as Jurian that she had once loved. How exactly she’d return him back to his former self, she didn’t know, but that problem could be faced when they were out of danger. For now, they had to escape, and quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspiration for Bryaxis is a chimera from D&D monster guides. [Here's](https://i.ibb.co/gD90nPX/Bryaxis.jpg) a really good pic of one and what I used as the basis for how to describe him when he and Astra were having their "morning chat."


	10. Chapter 10

**Fort Galle, Spring Lands Coastline**

 

Azriel woke and stretched, reaching across the bed for his mate, feeling satiated in a way he had never felt before in his entire life. For the first time, he felt _complete_ . Astra had accepted him last night - in spite of his flaws and reputation and not knowing anything about his dark past - and it humbled him beyond words. Not everyone would be eager to find themselves a mate in the Spymaster of the Night Court, from what his life had taught him thus far, and the way Astra had agreed sincerely, even if it was a whisper of a word, was not missed on him. He could sense her in the bond; hesitant for all she still didn’t know about him, deeply shy at this newfound depth to their relationship for which he admitted he pushed a little too hard for last night, but the best of all the emotions he felt from her was the eagerness to do it again and the satisfaction and pleasure bonding to him had given her. It seemed, despite it all, Astra had also felt something fundamental missing from her life that only _he_ could give her and he was drunk on the sensation, craving more of it as he luxuriated in the true feeling of being wanted - wholly as he was.

She wanted _him,_ charred hands and all. Despite the ache in his ruined fingers being particularly sharp this morning since he hadn’t spent time last night oiling the surface of his hands, he tilted his head and reached for her, pleased that she was still in bed, under the covers, and deliciously naked beside him, even though it was clear she had been awake a while from the alertness he saw in her eyes.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his sleep-infused tone dripping with pride and happiness at finding her there beside him, nipping at her mouth and running a curled finger over the swell of her right hip, unable to fully extend the finger but thrilled he could touch her all the same. In the past, he’d discovered most of those he had chosen for lovers didn’t like for him to remove the gloves. Fae, even Illyrians, were meant to be beautiful and he was certainly not. When some of them had seen the extent of the damage his brothers had wrought, horror had lit up their faces in such a severe way that any notion to take them to bed had been quelled, leaving him feeling disgusted, ashamed, and inadequate. Not so with Astra. “Did you sleep well?” 

Determined to touch her despite the blazing twitch of pain that followed each adjustment of his fingers, he folded his wings sharply against his back and rolled closer, nuzzling her neck and cupping a breast. He was pleased to feel her body react to even such a slight touch, her nipple turning hard against his palm. 

It was a miracle, really, that he could even feel such things - something he’d worked long and hard to produce, despite the side effect being more pain. He needed to feel to adequately hold a blade, and sometimes the pain helped him focus on the job, it was part of what had buffered his reputation as one of the more dangerous of the Inner Circle. Now, he realized none of that mattered anymore - he was glad he had suffered with the needed work to feel sensation to be able to touch and feel her on his hands and fingertips, like he was doing now, gliding his fingers and palm along the hardened tip of her breast, spelling out her silent arousal for him. 

He couldn’t help the pleased growl that escaped his throat when she shifted closer to him, struggling for composure when she brushed up against his rigidly hard cock. He was aching already, the insistent throb having been what roused him from sleep in the first place. It seemed while his mind hadn’t caught up to his body’s needs quite yet, his cock was right on target. The mating urges made themselves known then and he groaned against the sudden sharp demand to sink into her warm heat. Just the idea of spending inside her had him dangerously close to orgasm. 

Just to tease her, he ground his erection against the swell of her thigh and the throaty sigh she exhaled in response made him shudder. By the _Cauldron_ he wanted to fuck her again. Despite his raging cock and the mating urges deteriorating all his rational thought, he caught a flash of shadow in her troubled eyes. Immediately, he forced himself to pause, waiting to see if the hesitancy he saw there went away. It didn’t.

“What is it?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, still determined to play with the bud of her nipple in his hand, but giving her time to voice whatever was concerning her. This morning and last night _almost_ made up for the fact of what they were here to do - head south, find Jurian, discover what the Alchemists were up to and who exactly they were allied with besides the Mortal Queens. Now that she was his mate and a Shadowsinger to boot, he realized he may be able to bring her into his fold of spies and teach her to do things that only he knew how to do. The idea pleased him, but he was still troubled by the hollow look in her eyes.

“Azriel, I...” She trailed off, trembling in his grip when he teased her breast and - unable to resist - stroked himself against her thigh, offering him another hesitant smile, one that made him immediately pause. Her eyes were guarded, her words timid, the acrid taste of fear dancing along the bond towards him, and the trepid way she was looking at him had a sharp flare of worry slamming through him. Wait, did she _regret_ their actions last night? But she’d said yes, so adamantly, before he’d taken her...had he somehow read her wrong? His sudden elation immediately turned to ash in his mouth and he felt completely frozen. On instinct, his hands flinched, sharp flares of pain sweeping up his arms at the action, but he was too concerned with the taste of fear from Astra’s side of the bond. _No,_ his mind retaliated, sharp and swift and startling in its intensity, _she is_ **_mine_ ** _, she wanted me, she said_ **_yes_ ** _, she --_

“It’s not what you think, I don’t regret last night _or_ becoming your mate,” Astra suddenly whispered fiercely, tucking closer against his side, reaching up and cupping his cheek to pull his face towards hers, putting his immediate fears to rest with a sharp, hard press of her mouth against his own. He realized, in a faint roundabout way while she kissed him, that she must have also sensed his quickly escalating dread. _That_ would take some getting used to, but the immediate swell of relief he had in response to the fact that his fears were unwarranted made him sag against her. _She wants me,_ he chanted to himself, lost in her kisses, _she cares for me, she can grow to love me, scarred past and hands and all. It’ll be fine. As long as I have the bond, I don’t care about anything else._

He relaxed further when he felt the hot rush of lust and affection from her when she kissed him. Still, her eyes stayed shadowed and the fear he felt earlier still lingered, even if it was tempered and less sharp than before. He lifted his head from hers, puzzled at her emotions, not sure what to make of them. It took her a while to respond, but he was a patient male, he could wait until she was ready. 

Finally sighing, she tilted her head back, reaching for his hands and twining her fingers with his own, further reminding him she didn’t care about his flaws. “It’s just that...I’ve something else I need to confess to you, and I worry how you’ll take it.”

He went completely still, staring at her as she gnawed on her lower lip and stared back, anxiety and timid amounts of hope now swirling with the acrid taste of fear he’d sensed earlier. She was really worried about this, he realized. Did she forget who she was mated to? Suddenly, he wanted to laugh, stifling the reaction with a faint snort before grasping her hips and kissing her back with all the hunger he felt for her. When she gasped softly, clearly not expecting that reaction from him, he took advantage, sliding his tongue along hers. 

She had more secrets? _This_ was what worried her? He had _so_ many, most of which weren’t even his own, despite many of them perhaps not being as dark as his. He had meant to be honorable last night, talk with her about his own past, his own demons, before mating with her, but her scent and the incomplete bond had been too much to resist. He hadn’t given her much time to discuss anything with how insatiable his hunger had been, figuring they could work out getting to understand and know their mate over the course of the mission.

Still, it touched him that she was concerned about his reaction - that meant she cared about him, even if she hadn’t come out and said it yet. Chagrined, he vowed to himself that he would have her words of love before long. To hear her tell him she loved him made him positively primeval in the ways he wanted her. He wanted to fuck her, love her, have children with her, a home with her - everything he’d never had, not really. He would teach the ghosts of his past what a true honorable male did to make themselves worthy of their mate.

He had never used the word ‘love’ in his whole life, but he vowed he would with her. Pondering over the best way to tell her this, he reigned himself back and pulled away from her mouth, pleased at the flushed look on her face, trailing his fingers over the plump softness of her lips. Wanting to put her at ease, he smiled faintly at her sudden look of confusion and concern. His reaction puzzled her, but he didn’t care, he could soothe her worries easily.

Running his fingers through her hair, he pressed another quick succession of kisses to her mouth before satisfying himself enough to reply. “I told you last night, whatever it is, _I don’t care_ . It won’t change things. You are my mate, Astra. You _are_ talking to the Spymaster, you know. Secrets are what I _do_. Surely you don’t think you’re the only one with them, hm?”

He waited, giving her a knowing smirk as he watched comprehension dawn in her beautiful eyes, erasing that fear he’d sensed earlier. Quickly, her face turned red, followed by a flush of embarrassment and even hints of arousal. Biting back a groan as his cock flared to throbbing life once more, he suddenly blinked in shock when she sat up sharply and slapped his shoulder, hard enough to sting. _Did she really just…?_

“This isn’t funny, you asshole! I was...really worried…” She started to yell, the end of her tirade turning into a small wheezing snort of feminine laughter. He could tell she was trying to hold onto her anger but was losing under the amusement of the reality of it all - he was the Spymaster, known for cutthroat measures to learn any and everything his High Lord asked, and even some he didn’t. Whatever secrets Astra had would pale in comparison to those he already knew. 

Unable to help it, he grinned, pleased she wasn’t timid or shy around him, despite the fact his shoulder still smarted slightly. His woman knew how to punch a man, something that both pleased him and - embarrassingly enough - aroused him immensely. His cock chose then to remind him that they hadn’t mated yet that morning and it was extremely annoyed with that fact.

Unable to help it, he suddenly reached out, lightening fast, and gripped her knee, pulling her over and on top of him, grinding his sex against her core once she was straddling him. She moaned, her eyes half-closing, even as he hissed at the scorching wet heat he felt against the tip of his cock. She was _dripping wet_ and deliciously ready for him. “Whatever it is, can this super explosive secret you just _have_ to share wait until _after_ I’ve fucked you as much as I want this morning?”

When she didn’t immediately respond with a retort, he plowed ahead, literally, spearing her onto his shaft, groaning loudly in satisfaction as she moaned and began to rock her hips in concert with his shallow thrusts.

“Fine- _f-fuck_ , but I’m still mad at you for teasing me. This is - _oh fuck_ \- serious, Az,” She half-whispered, half-moaned, lost in the sensation of their mutual pleasure. They both groaned when he thrust and she squeezed around him - so tight, hot, and wet - leaving him struggling against the urge to immediately spill inside her. She was close, but he was on _fire._ He needed to bring her quickly to his level before he embarrassed himself.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he muttered, gripping her hips and showing her how to ride him that would get her closer to climax and not drive him to the brink before she was ready. The pain in his hands faded away; all that mattered was the way she felt when he was inside her, and when she moaned and began to move harder, he forgot everything but the satisfaction that rolled through him. 

 _Fuck yes,_ hot wild thoughts tumbled past his subconsciousness, even as he growled and let her begin their morning the proper way - the way he planned to do it every morning going forward if he was able to - by bringing his mate to climax with his body or his mouth. _Tomorrow,_ he reminded himself, losing his ability to form thought the harder she rode him, _tomorrow I’ll use my mouth._

After that, he couldn’t think much at all.

 

* * *

 

 

**Sicyon, Capital City of the Day Court**

“Helion.”

He froze, going rigid in the empty hallway that led to his en suite of rooms near the throne room - a room that had seemed colder, lonelier, the longer he ruled with no one to truly reside at his side. He had asked, after returning from yet another long drab debate by his scholar’s guild about the state of the library rebuild from when Amarantha had ruined several centuries worth of knowledge, to be left alone, so this was a complete shock, but not unpleasant. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure he was hallucinating it.

It was _her_ voice; the voice of the only female that had ever really mattered to him.

Almost afraid to turn, fearing that if he did, the whisper of his name from _that_ voice would merely be a figment of his fevered imagination - because he _had_ imagined it, for _centuries_ \- he finally forced himself to move, tilting his head in the direction he’d heard his name spoken from.

But, no, it wasn’t a mirage. There she stood; her body hidden under a long, layered robe of crimson and gold, her fire-touched auburn curls tucked under a scarf of pitch-dark barkish brown; Aurelia Vanserra, now _former_ Lady of the Autumn Court since Tamlin had done the Fae world a favor and rid them all of Beron’s cold, harsh machinations when he’d dared to steal his mate away.

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, merely staring, eating up her beauty. She’d aged well, even more stunning than before, when he’d known her more intimately than anyone else - not just her body, but the bright loving facets of her soul, before -- well, _before._

“Lady Aurelia, I…” He suddenly struggled to say, not knowing what protocol to use to greet her with. Why was she here, in Day? When she hadn’t come to him after Beron’s death, he had assumed her love for him had faded with time, buried under centuries of separation the the slow punishing cruelty of her former husband. Again, he felt utterly cheated in life -- that the one female he desired above all was not his fated mate. Things would have been so different all those centuries ago if they had been. “What are you doing here?” He finally managed to say.

“We need to talk,” she whispered, her voice as fragile as the tenuous look of hope and fear in her eyes. “About...us...and other things.”

“Like what?” He asked thickly, trying to disguise his longing for her. His fingers twitched with the effort it took to hold himself back from reaching out to her. Gods, he wanted to touch her; hold her and assure her he still wanted her, regardless of the past. She was free, like him - did she still want what they had? Like it once had been?

Suddenly, he was annoyed with his clumsy staring and stuttered words. Where was the Helion he always _pretended_ to be, around the others? Cocksure and without restraint. Today, he was none of those things. Perhaps it was because that bastard that was her husband was dead - and even more thankfully, not by his hand, even though he’d wanted countless times to be the one to do it - and she’d sought him out directly, not the other way around. He stared - and stared and _stared_ \- still unable to process what to say, what to _do_ , now that he was finally alone with her for the first time in centuries. _I still want you. I still love you. Why are you here? Do you feel the same?_

“Like our son,” she finally whispered, her voice trembling even as the circles under her eyes grew pronounced, like she was waiting for his vicious response. His entire world imploded once the words sank in; but he continued to say nothing, staring mutely.

  
_Our..._ **_what?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer:** Note that I named the Day Court's capital here and Lucien's mother, since they're not given to us in the books yet (at least as of the posting of this chapter, if you're reading this in the future). This is waaaaay into AU territory now anyway, so I figure no one cares but me. ;o)


	11. Chapter 11

**The Prison, Western Isles, Night Court Domain**

 

“ _Cauldron’s tits,_ this place gives me the creeps. You really want to interview inmates today, too? I really don’t like being here any longer than I have to be,” Cassian muttered from behind him, a wariness present in his tone that wasn’t normally there, making Rhysand blink and look over his shoulder, the charcoal and parchment paper in his grip nearly slipping with the shift of his weight. 

Cassian had been left to guard duty by the door, short sword at the ready in his hand, his powerful body outfitted in well-worn leather and metal armor, all seven siphon stones gleaming, ready to be spent. It had allowed Rhysand to relax as much as he could and focus on the work at hand, not having told Feyre where he was going this morning when he claimed Court business. She was still left reeling over the loss of Bryaxis and her pregnancy had made her stomach sensitive for the past few days. Despite being assured by Madja that what Feyre was experiencing was normal in the early stages of pregnancy, he worried the stress of travel and the heavy weight of the spells present in this ancient place would put an unnecessary burden on his mate and unborn child, leaving her at home and under the care of her sister Elain. 

“I’d think you would want to keep our presence here to one visit, not drag it out into a recurrence, or was I mistaking your words for eagerness? Why, got a friend in mind you’d like to become buddies with?” He teased, watching Cassian glower over at him before turning back sharply to where he was studying the hall outside the cell, taking his duties as guard seriously. Considering Cassian’s surly silence as an answer to his question - he would deal with however long Rhysand needed him here, as long as he didn’t have to return - Rhysand returned to what he was doing. Smiling faintly despite the circumstances, he resumed rubbing the block of charcoal over the butcher paper he’d borrowed from the open market back in Velaris. It had been perfect for preserving the markings carved into the walls, the thick parchment containing enough wax that when the charcoal grazed it, the rubbed darkening stayed firmly in place and didn’t smudge.

Inside this portion of the prison, ominously near where the Bone Carver used to reside, it was cold, dark, and damp, the lingering scent of limestone and wet rock minerals heavy in the air. Even the spells used to entrap the creatures of this place had a certain weight and taste, leaving a lingering aftertaste of salt-iron on Rhysand’s tongue.

They had been here for hours, painstakingly covering every facet of the abandoned cell, making sure to preserve the markings for Lucien and Amren to later digest, back in Day’s libraries, and were nearly done. In the corner of the dark stone cell sat several sheets of carefully rolled up scrolls, marked gently on the inside so that their language decoders could easily organize them into a makeshift replica of the room Rhysand and Cassian were now standing in, once they were transported to where Lucien and Amren were situated in Helion’s domain. 

Despite the markings being preserved, something told Rhysand that he should take the added effort to investigate some of the Prison’s oldest inmates - those outside of the missing or newly-deceased - and see what he could learn from them. While Eris and Keir had gained the initial upper hand, something he still hadn’t had a chance to discover how they’d managed to do so, only Rhysand had the power and permission to garner answers from the denizens lodged here. Perhaps something would be found that would aide them. He was _so_ close to peace for all of Prythian, he could _taste_ it, and the evasion of such both angered and frustrated him. He had a son on the way; peace was too tempting a prize hanging so _very_ close to becoming a reality, just within his grasp. The High Lord Summit meetings were no longer rife with unspoken grudges, becoming productive and proactive in leading change to their world. He refused to raise his son in a world like the kind he had been brought up in, if he could help it, and when this Alchemist threat was removed, that peace could easily be captured and maintained.

“Almost done,” he murmured, both to himself and to Cassian, finishing up the last few extensive rubbings, marking them and rolling them up. Transferring all the scrolls into the large leather carrier he’d brought with them, he stood and handed them over to Cassian, who took them with a mere grunt of acknowledgement. Despite the brave face his friend was wearing, he could sense Cassian’s unease and decided to send him home. “Go ahead and take those back to the House of Wind. I’ll do the next portion on my own.”

Cassian frowned, giving Rhysand a speculative stare, clearly not pleased to be dismissed but also unable to fully suppress his relief at being able to escape this place. “You sure? I don’t mind staying, you know I don’t.”

“Positive. You wanted me to let you in, involve you more in my schemes for world peace. Well, now I’m telling you I can handle this next part. Go home to your mate, Cassian,” he urged him, watching Cassian nod and turn, ducking slightly to leave the cell they were currently standing in. Cassian was still hot-blooded when it came to Nesta, a pairing that he had at first not liked but as time went on, understood how well suited they were for one another. It made Feyre happy, seeing the changes in Nesta - still rigid in most places, but Cassian able to reach her, mold her into something more agreeable to the outside world and especially for her remaining family - and he was pleased Cassian finally found someone who made him happy. 

Within moments, Cassian was gone, leaving Rhysand alone in the dark underbelly of the Prison’s deeper cells. The ancient spells that kept this place walled off from the outside world felt inexplicably heavier without Cassian’s added presence to buffer them. Flickering an eye of distaste towards the walls of the abandoned cell, he left the room, reaching out with his powers to ensure the small cavern-like room would be walled off from anyone else going forward - other inmates, visitors, and interlopers alike - and moved along the nondescript hall, seeking other creatures in its depths that had lived and existed here long enough that they may have clues to the identity of the old occupant of that cell.

As he walked, he felt the Prison guide him to where he needed to go, able to ferret out denizens that qualified for what he was looking for. Suddenly, the spell craft seemed less dense, less burdensome on his shoulders, and he turned, almost growling until he realized who had joined him unexpectedly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered softly, frustration lacing his tone. She’d be angry he had both lied by omission and kept his words curt, but she needed to know he worried for her and their son in her belly.

“And you should’ve told me what you were planning to do,” Feyre sharply retorted, her own fury  lighting her lovely grey-blue eyes. She wore a simple set of leather greaves and a tight-knit robe of linen, keeping her identity inconspicuous and  comfortable. “We do things _together,_ Rhys. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten this. I _am_ High Lady, just as much as you are High _Lord._ ”

He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t win in this argument - she was right. Stepping forward, cupping the small curve of her stomach, he traced it with his fingers, feeling her form relax as her eyes softened and she pressed a kiss to his mouth. It pleased him she acknowledged his silent worry, even if she wouldn’t back down and return home.

Turning, they moved together, saying nothing. It was as if Feyre knew what he was after and followed along without argument.

Soon, they came to an archway, barred by iron, into a cell so pitch black in intensity, it appeared like a curtain over the doorway. Glancing at Feyre, he waited for her brief nod before easing back the bars and stepping inside, feeling Feyre staying close to his side. Something grazed his cheek; gossamer thin, viscous and suspiciously strong, despite the diaphanous nature of whatever adhered to his face and clothes. He heard Feyre gasp just as a voice rang out - discordant, strong, and yet oddly weathered and deceptively fragile. 

_“Who wakes me? Don’t turn on the light, it hurts my eyes. Do you have a needle? They took all my needles when I was placed in here.”_

Rhysand tensed, the voice speaking to them both young and old all at once, the female tone drastically alternating between elation and utter despair. Despite the Prison attuned to his magic and nature as High Lord of these lands, there were no records kept here, no way to tell what manner of monster or creature they had wandered in upon.

“Pardon, but I didn’t catch your name first. You know what I am, if not who I am, since this place gives me reign over the likes of you,” He spoke, keeping his voice clear, inflecting a bit of his power into his words, just to give the creature pause. He heard the Prison respond in kind to the silent command, shutting the bars back into place. He adhered to the wishes of the female creature, though, not commanding light in the cell. To his relief, Feyre stayed mute at his side, the small tightening of her arm at his elbow the only indication she was as ill at ease as he was.

A small peal of laughter interrupted an odd clicking noise, followed by a wet sluice of what sounded like muck hitting stone - the wall, the floors, it was impossible to tell. Eventually, the female prisoner spoke.

_“Quite right, High Lord. Can’t blame an old biddy for trying. Lord of Stars it is, then. As for my name? I’ll admit, you’re the first to ask in a millennia. If I give it to you, my true name, what guarantees do I have you’ll leave me be?”_

Rhysand stared into the thick darkness, forcing the smirk that wanted to tug at his lips to stop before it even flirted with becoming real. “What choice do you have? You are already mine, bound inside this place. I have questions. In exchange, if you can answer them truthfully and satisfy my concerns, I can promise one gift and one gift only to ease your sentencing here. Something innocuous and unable to compromise any and all here, including you and this place itself.”

The noises paused, long enough Rhysand wondered if it plotted something nefarious instead of deciding over the terms of his bargain. Finally, the clicking resumed, along with the wet suctioning noises and near silent laughter.

_“We have a deal then, Lord of Stars. My name….is Achlys. What questions do you have for me?”_

“The cell, near here, is carved in a strange language. What is it?”

_“Something you won’t unravel until it’s too late for one in particular.”_

He went still, feeling Feyre tense beside him. She stepped slightly forward and he tilted to shield her, but she placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Who in particular?”

 _“One individual,”_ the female creature laughed - then cried, then moaned - sounding both ominous and tickled at their seemingly confused response to her question. _“I’ve been down here a long time, you don’t expect me to know the names of individuals I haven’t yet met, do you? But, dear Lady of Stars, if you let me out, perhaps I could then name this individual and --”_

“Who wrote it?” Rhysand demanded, cutting off the creature’s sickly sweet words. Feyre said nothing, knowing they could never release whatever this thing happened to be. The last ones they had, the risk had been for saving all of Prythian and the Mortal Lands alike. As dangerous as the Alchemists were, their risk paled in comparison to what the wards of this place warned this creature could be.

_“A rather odd creature, from a rather odd place. Sort of like me, I suppose. He was sweet on me once, made me bone needles when they took my other ones. I really need my needles, you see. Will you get me needles if I answer all your questions, Lord of Stars? Even crafted this abode for me, knowing I liked the blackness. He made the shadows stay in here with me, never allowed to leave. They listened, too. They still listen. They will continue to listen, he said, without choice. I do like my darkness, yes. All he wanted in exchange was company...and my own words to add to his little project. How was I to know the snitch used my words to craft himself a means to escape?”_

Fury unlike any he had known before swept through him, enraged that these creatures had managed to feed this mysterious missing inmate bits of knowledge, the kind of which birthed a language that allowed it to escape, possibly traveling into the hands of mortals that now wielded them, harming his kind. Reaching out to the old wards guarding this place, he strengthened them, willing away the ability for word to travel between cells. The Bone Carver had been able to avoid the power of such things, and maybe it was true for this creature, but other lesser beings would be forced to obey, and maybe that would avoid another instance of this happening again.

He felt Feyre tense beside him, jolting faintly at his side. He paused, listening to what she had to say. “He asked the shadows to stay? How?”

Immediately, Rhysand could tell what she was asking. Was this creature a shadow singer, perhaps like Azriel?

The female monster merely laughed, the noise garbling into a wordless cry of despair. _“Oh yes, Lady of Stars, but he didn’t ask, he commanded. They are forced to listen to him, you see, because they’re his own. All shadows are his own, extensions of himself he said. Only some can be lured away from his compulsions. Like the one you worry about in your head.”_

Feyre tensed, making Rhysand growl warningly in his throat. What shadows did Feyre worry about? What was this creature talking about? Already, he feared whatever had left was ancient, maybe even moreso than Amren herself. “Who do you speak of?”

_“Why, Bryaxis of course. He is his family, that one. In fact, he used to tell me once he got out of here, he would teach him the true significance of entrapment. Tell me, did he succeed?”_

Icy awareness prickled up his spine. Bryaxis was _connected_ to this creature that bore the language of the Alchemists? Remembering Feyre’s broken bond, he heard her sharp inhalation of surprise, pressing her towards the bars. They needed to warn Azriel, if Bryaxis had been taken or aligned with  the Alchemists, then this threat was more malevolent than ever before.

_“What about my needles, Lord of Stars? Will I get my needles?”_

Turning, he felt the creature move more than saw it, staring in mounting horror at what appeared before him as he moved with Feyre towards the lighter sections of the hallway - thick black hair, gleaming scales along a grey-white torso, a bulbous tail traced with long spindly limbs like a spider, each dripping with a slick black substance that appeared to be poison. The wet noises he had heard were the globs of web she was producing and trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to spin into thread. What _was_ she? Did he want to know?

“I’ll get your needles,” he said dismissively, clearing the bars and setting them in place before she could reach them. He heard her shrieks - howls of rage, wails of sorrow, and maniacal cries of hysteria - before he headed towards the exit of the Prison.

Briefly, it made him smile. It seemed, she realized that he had not specified on when he would bring the needles. _Only once they’re captured,_ he told himself, heading with a shaken up Feyre for the outside.

Once thing was for sure, he had to warn Azriel, before it was too late.

 

* * *

 

**Fort Galle, Spring Lands Coastline**

 

Something was in their room.

He couldn’t tell what it was, because the shadows were unresponsive, but it immediately set his nerves on edge, poised and ready to launch himself towards the mute area of the room, where the shadows refused to whisper back to his commands. He’d felt this once before and knew that whatever it was, it was dangerous.

Keeping his form relaxed, feigning sleep, he calculated how long it would take him to winnow and make for the sheath of daggers across the room and protect his mate. Furious at himself for his clumsiness and impulsive cock, leaving Astra exposed and at risk for whatever was here, he felt her stir faintly in his arms but not rouse completely from sleep. If she sensed his haggard awareness of the otherness in the room with them, she was too entrenched in sleep to wake from it.

Carefully plotting his next steps, he gathered his strength - then attacked. Bursting from his place in the bed, to the daggers, to gripping one in his hand and launching himself towards the unforeseen force, all without sound or indication of his attack - he suddenly found himself stopping when Astra screamed out loud, shattering the deadly stillness he needed to spring his defensive measures.

“Az! _Don’t!_ Stop!”

Immediately, he did, even as he remained ready to move. He had winnowed so fast, he hadn’t had a chance to comprehend what he was seeing, but now that he was no longer moving, he stared at what was in front of him.

 _What the fucking hell is_ **_that?_ **

Astra hurried up beside him, holding up a thin covering of furs over her nakedness. Her face was flushed from sleep and copious amounts of sex, but what startled him the most was her utter calmness. Again, he thought of the secret she said she needed to tell, steeling his insides when he faced the creature once more.

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The tail of a scorpion, the body of a lion, with fangs the size of his forearm, it was a mixture of all things he hated the most - the worst being its face, flickering curiously between the likeness of those he hated with every fiber in his being, the man and siblings that haunted him even now in his dreams, centuries after their death.

“You were supposed to stay put until I told him! What the hell, Bryaxis?”

Azriel went rigid, suddenly aware the shadows he knew to coat the creature were absent - and strangely silent. _This_ was Bryaxis? How could he see him and not go mad? How did Astra know who and what he was? Suddenly, he realized the tattoo on her forearm was missing, making him stiffen further. She was _bonded_ to the creature? How? _When?_

 **_I was bored,_ ** the creature snorted, licking its fangs with a forked black tongue, similar to a snake, giving Azriel an eerie once over, sporting the face of his father. He wasn’t sure  what to think, a sinking sense of dread flooding his gut.. **_I told you the window of opportunity was closing, yet you chose to dry hump your mate rather than tell him of me. The threat will not wait for anyone, Astra, including you and your mate’s urges. He sensed me, woke up, and now knows. Message and secret reveal accomplished. Can we go now?_ **

“Excuse me, but...what the fuck is going on?”

Both Astra and the creature - the very same creature Cassian had once been terrified of - turned and looked his way with his snarled outburst. He gestured rudely at what he was seeing; fucking _Bryaxis_ of all things, standing in the room with them, both he and his mate buck ass naked and newly mated, telling them both they needed to leave. He realized, somewhere in the back of his scrambled shocked mind, that it must have been _Bryaxis_ that had warned Astra of the need to move to find the Alchemists, not the shadows. She could talk to shadows _and_ was bonded to this creature of nightmares? Bryaxis, for its part, seemed unconcerned with both his nudity and his outrage.

She shrank back, that shadowed worry he had sensed earlier that morning returning, and he almost did a double-take. _So this is what she had been so nervous about spilling earlier,_ he realized. For once, it seemed, Astra’s secret left him speechless, staring at her with a shocked expression on his face, one he didn’t have the energy to hide - not from her, his mate. When she’d been worried earlier, shadowed with doubt and insecurity, he had expected some anxiety over what this meant for his reputation or her own, after their mission was finished and they returned home - but _this?_

This he hadn’t expected at _all._

Hearing Bryaxis growl when Astra flinched at his reaction, he cast the creature a sharp glare before looking beseechingly at his mate. _I don’t care if you’re Death Incarnate, back the fuck off,_  he willed silently at the creature, turning to Astra.

“My words from earlier still hold, darling,” he whispered, watching her relax the more he talked, stepping forward, far enough away he could evade an attack from the creature - the _uncovered_ creature - and reaching for her, gently cupping her cheek when she leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, nuzzling his ruined fingertips with her jaw. “This changes _nothing._ I swear it. You’re mine, for now and for ever, I just...am surprised is all. You’re bonded to Bryaxis? Since when?”

Suddenly, he stiffened, realization dawning before she could reply, giving Bryaxis another thorough glare over his shoulder. How _dare_ it take advantage of his mate when she was vulnerable!  Bryaxis merely flashed him a grin, fangs and all. The action made him uneasy, but he refused to show it. “Since Spring, I bet. Since I found you sneaking back into your room at Tamlin’s estate.”

“I knew I needed to tell you, after last night and this morning, I just -- I’m sorry, Az. This is it, really and truly. Well, other than getting to know you, there’s nothing else hiding in the shadows, soldier’s honor, I swear it.” She whispered, making him turn back to her, pressing a kiss to her brow. Nudging her to get dressed, he turned to look at the creature, staring into its depthless gaze.

Astra did so, quickly and quietly, even as he called the shadows away from the window, letting in the light, gathering the shadows he still had under his command to his shoulders and neck. Bryaxis seemed to do the same, jolting him with surprise - it had shadow capabilities? Remembering the shadows he had heard were about the creature, he thought to ask it how he could gaze upon it and remain in control of his wits, and why it wore the faces of those from his past, when it spoke in that odd heavy mindspeak from before.

**_You are her mate, so in a way...I am bonded to you as well. This bond we share, it's not the bonds you are familiar with, the kind from your High Lord. This is not a bond of indentured servitude, enforced with penalties, but given freely. This is why you can gaze upon me. As to your other question, Shadow Singer, it is because of my nature. You see...what plucks at the inner dark parts of your soul._ **

“What?” Astra said, coming up beside them both. Azriel moved, dressing himself quickly all while keeping a steady eye on Bryaxis, until they were both back in a combined state of readiness. “What do you mean? He doesn’t see feathers, scales, and other...odd things like I do?” She blinked, looking towards Azriel, pure innocent curiosity lighting up her eyes and casting away the shadows he’d seen there moments before. “What is it you see then?”

He paused, not wanting to broker the topic of his past now, when Bryaxis was present. Oddly, the creature seemed to sense this, speaking for him.

 **_Nightmares are personal, Astra. His are not the same as yours,_ ** it answered simply enough, giving Azriel a stare with eyes so familiar to him, he sensed the undercurrent of his words. _You need to tell her everything, if you ever want her to completely love you,_ his eyes seemed to whisper.

“You knew of our window, and where to find our target,” he went with instead, schooling his expression to one of utter calmness, not clamping down on his emotions in the bond so Astra could sense it was a ploy, a way to focus on what he could control at the moment. She relaxed, falling into a similar stance, and a rush of affection hit him so swiftly, he reached out and brushed her hands with his own even as the residual oil in his gloves calmed the silent agony in his fingers. 

 **_I did and still do,_ ** it replied, suddenly somber. **_I know who works with the Alchemists and has your friend._ **

“Who?” He asked, sliding all his weaponry and siphons into place, feeling the fullness of his magic swell and settle into each of the stones. 

 **_My brother,_ **it said, making Azriel go rigid. He cast Astra a sharp glance and she nodded, gnawing on her lower lip in worry.

“Attach yourself to her and fill me in on everything along the way. Enough time has been wasted as it stands. We’re bleeding daylight,” he growled, feeling Astra’s relief he wasn’t upset with her and her renewed vigor at the mission they needed to start.

The creature gathered shadows, bleeding into a mist of sheer darkness, then slid under Astra’s bracers, no doubt to pattern itself along her forearm into the tattoo he now knew was so much more. Hastily tossing a note on the bed of furs, he held out a hand for her, going to the window’s edge, the same way he’d caught Astra sneaking back into Spring. She took his hand, stretching her wings, nodding when he motioned that they were to jump and she was to follow him across the narrow sea.

 _You ready, darling?_ He asked, speaking to her through the mating bond for the first time. Again, he was reminded that no matter what delays their bonding had caused, it was worth the relief of feeling her - _truly_ feeling her - alongside his own mind before they set out.

 _Ready. Let’s get Jurian back. Wherever this leads, I will follow you. Let’s finish this, Azriel….my mate,_ she replied back, making his heart sing even as he steeled his nerves and took flight. She followed shortly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creature from the Prison is molded after a female Arachnoid from D&D's monster guide. See [this](https://i.ibb.co/qpBTp3g/Arachnae-female-monster.jpg) as an example.
> 
> To Azriel, Bryaxis appears as a manitcore wearing the faces of his dad and brothers. See [this](https://i.ibb.co/4tdVJ6h/manticore.jpg) as an example.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Past, Outside of Loholt, Illyrian Warcamp bordering Velaris**

 

 _“Get out of my way! Let me down there -_ **_now!_ ** _”_

Azriel jolted awake, his heart hammering wildly inside his small emancipated chest, feeling his entire body tremble with uncontrollable panic. That harsh roar belonged to his father, and it was aimed at _him._

“Father, _no_ , not now,” hissed Horus, Demeter’s voice murmuring in agreement alongside his brother’s, somewhere up the stairs that led into the cellar, where he was imprisoned, muffled behind a closed door, probably the one that led here - to his home and exile. His voice, unlike Horus’, was low enough Azriel couldn’t make out the words, but he was able to hear Horus’ quiet fury that lent a crispness to his words - Azriel able to understand him even over the roar of his father’s outrage. “Mother is upstairs, entertaining other War Chiefs. High Lord Savant will call you _and_ them soon. You need to be _there_ , not here! Not when this is about that _whore_ \--”

“Watch what the fuck you say,” his father growled, but something seemed to spur Horus to continue, his own tone turning flint-edged and cold. “Listen to yourself! Loosing your mind over that stupid piece of ass. You cannot embarrass mother now, father - not _tonight!_ Not with that _thing_ downstairs! We have _guests_ , for Cauldron’s sake!”

The thing they referred to was _him_ \- their half-brother, and the family’s biggest shame. 

“Get the fuck out of my way, son. Don’t you _dare_ take that tone with me, I am your Sire! Go keep an eye on your mother, be useful for once in your miserable lives. I will see that thing downstairs - it’s _his_ fault what happened tonight! I will see him punished!  I will see him _dead_ for this!”

Azriel sat up in the darkness, his malnourished form wracked by violent tremors, a sour sense of dread coalescing in his gut, telling him something was very, very wrong.

 _Help!_ He shouted at the shadows, as soon as he saw a blade of light spill across the floor. Horus clearly hadn’t listened to their father, still wrestling slightly with the large demonic creature that was his father - but their father was powerfully built and full grown, where Horus was only a handful of seasons older than Azriel was himself, even if he was properly nourished. A vicious slam of his father’s fist against Horus’ jaw had his brother staggering - Demeter was nowhere in sight, maybe having listened and rejoined his mother upstairs like their father had commanded they do so - when his father’s dark eyes tore to where he cowered in his cell, the acrid metallic taste of fear singing the back of his throat. He understood the look of wrath in his father’s eyes, having seen it many times in his life, but never this intense before.

Whatever had happened, his father was enraged enough, he was going to kill him.

A mewling noise he barely recognized escaped his throat as he backed up as far as he could, hunkering down in the small makeshift cell he was chained inside, his father barreling towards him, pleading loudly and forlornly with what he’d hoped was his friends. If there ever was a time he wished the shadows were real, it was now.

 _Help me! He’s going to kill me! Help me!_ When he felt his father’s fist twist painfully in his hair, he screamed, renewing his sobbed pleas in his head.He was too weak to fight, not even able to claw at his wrists for purchase before they were painfully pulled back by the binding metal at his own bony wrists. Somewhere, in the back of his panicked mind, he felt the sharp searing pain of a bone snapping in his right arm. Fear so strong, he almost lost control of his bladder, swept through him. _HelpmeHELPMEHELPME_ **_HELPME_ ** _-_

Suddenly, something softly whisked over his skin, then the room was utterly silent, except for the sudden surprised shout of his half-brother, Horus, who had been left slumped near the stairs of the cellar.

“Father! What in the Gods’ name - Father? _Father!_ Let go of him, father, he’s -- oh _gods!_ ”

Just as suddenly, something was slammed against his temple, and true darkness met him then, the kind that came from unconsciousness, but just before that, he heard them.

_Sleep, child. No one will harm you. We will protect you. Rest now._

 

* * *

 

 

**House of Wind, Velaris**

 

“Excuse me? You’re sure? Not dead? _Escaped?_ ”

Rhysand nodded, drumming his fingers against the tabletop as he looked towards the window, where the person he would’ve never expected to see had shown and said little else - Elain, his mate’s sister and Lucien’s elusive mate. He’d been waiting for her to say something this entire time, having not forgotten _what_ she was since she’d helped them during the war.

In his other hand sat a letter from Lucien, by way of Amren, and their initial breakdown of the rubbings he and Cassian had taken confirmed what he initially thought -- it was the source of the Alchemist’s language, while still being slightly crude and rudimentary, not as advanced as what they’d seen in Illyria, and it was the makings of a binding spell, allowing whatever manner of creature that had designed it to bind to something and escape. The _what_ and _how_ was still being worked out, but the good news was that Amren and Lucien felt that, with time and study of the original spellwork, they’d know soon what they were dealing with. Still, his eyes lingered on the Archeron sister in the room, wondering what she was bringing to the puzzling equation that was the current state of affairs in regards to the Alchemists.

 _What did you_ **_see_ ** _that had you nervous enough to join us here?_ He thought, feeling Feyre’s fingers nudging his own from where she clasped his left hand in hers, bringing him out of his contemplative stare. He glanced back at her, offering a fleeting smile, even as Feyre’s eyes flickered past his own towards her sister, where Elain continued to stare mutely into the outside world beyond.

 _She’ll talk when she’s ready,_ Feyre offered down the bond. He squeezed her hand  to let her know he was aware, just curious, when Morrigan’s harsh sigh filled the silence that had descended in the room after Rhysand confirmed that they were dealing with an escapee - most likely an ancient one at that.

“I’ll head to Spring, warn Tamlin, Shula and Vassa to keep the forts alert along the coast,” she finally commented, rubbing a finger between her furrowed brow, clearly troubled by the idea of going down there, or what she had just learned, Rhysand wasn’t sure. She glanced between them both, Cassian not in the room, having gone to answer a summons by one of the guardsman of the makeshift council room they found themselves in. “How much do we want them to know? Everything? What about Azriel? Does he know? About the escapee and that - _what?_ \- he’s related to Bryaxis who is currently _also_ missing and happened to somehow break his bond to Feyre?”

Rhysand’s lips thinned, knowing he’d have to soon call an impromptu High Lord Summit meeting, with this newfound knowledge. It was too risky to keep the other courts unaware of the most recent facts, as much as he loathed to reveal them. Prythian was a powerful country, but he worried - as he did when facing off with Hybern and Amarantha - that not all of their borders were as superstitiously guarded as Tamlin’s that faced the Mortal Lands and every High Lord needed their people to be on high alert. 

Something was coming - something _big_. He could feel it in his bones.

Just as he was about to tell Morrigan that, no, Azriel wasn’t aware of recent developments, hoping she’d pass along the message, or have a way to get the knowledge to Azriel in that way he had with shadows, he felt his power ripple and prickle in the back of his mind, becoming aware of something and _someone_ else powerful entering the room.

Turning his head, he glanced over, keeping his expression schooled as he saw Cassian enter the room, a stony glare etched into his hewn face, followed by another person as unexpected as Elain had been - Eris, High Lord of the Autumn Court. 

Frowning, he stared Eris’ way, trying to glean why he was here as the lean auburn-haired male stepped inside, dressed immaculately in fine silk robes of ocre and rich burgundy - reflecting the court he led so mysteriously since ascending in Beron’s place - when Feyre blinked, her eyes narrowing, no doubt remembering her showdown with the same male all those moons ago, when she and Lucien had been escaping to Night from Spring.

“What brings you into our Court, Lord Autumn?” He watched Feyre ask, her tone sharp and direct - something he loved about her. He couldn’t help urging along Eris’ reply, pulling on the lighting of the room, letting the flames in the wall scones flicker briefly against the shaded darkness before smiling Eris’ way when his eyes narrowed and met his own, the flames in the sconces suddenly bursting to life, fighting the darkness he’d just let descend into the room. “And by all means, please continue to measure dicks with my mate while we’re discussing the Alchemist problem. Truly, you two both astound me with your skills as High Lords,” Feyre commented dryly, making both him and Eris turn her way.

Eris merely shrugged, his lips curving into a serpentine smile. “I had a notion that something important was about to happen, so here I am. Besides, you two and I still have matters to discuss, do we not? Being _allies_ and all that...”

Rhysand remembered the time when Eris had been in the room with Keir, sharing their knowledge of what he’d just confirmed - the Prison had remnants of a component of the magic the Alchemists were using - and his hackles immediately went up, his power darkening the room once more. This time, Eris didn’t seem interested in competing, allowing the light in the room to dampen to a mere glow, merely taking a seat and draping himself like a King across the plush backing that arched behind him. Staring at Eris’ surprisingly unreadable poker face, he also remembered that after that particular meeting had concluded, Eris managed to smoothly dodge nearly all of his inquiries about _how_ and _why_ he’d gathered the information with his uncle - something he wasn’t eager to let go of, especially now, with his seemingly random arrival.

 _He’s hiding something,_ he whispered to Feyre along the mating bond. _I don’t know what yet, but he knows something we don’t, or there’s something at play I don’t know. Watch him._

 _Noted,_ Feyre murmured back, keeping an unflinching eye on the High Lord sitting across from them. Both of them were also painfully aware of Morrigan in the room, her demeanor closed off, remote, and eerily quiet. Suddenly, she stood stiffly, glancing at Rhysand and Feyre. Cassian, too, seemed to struggle, his rugged expression growing more dark the longer he stared between all those gathered. The only one seemingly oblivious was Elain, who still stared out the window.

“I’ll go see what I can do about what you told me,” Morrigan said in a clipped tone, brushing past everyone in a ramrod straight way that screamed discomfort and unhealed wounds. Cassian’s eyes met his own and Rhysand rubbed at his brow, motioning for him to follow Morrigan, to make sure she was alright. As much as he’d been loathed to form an alliance with Eris, he had to honor it, even now - if Prythian was, as Shula had once stated, going to move past old grudges and unite towards a better, more peaceful life. Not that such a road wouldn’t be paved with the sharp edges of everyone who’d been harmed by their dark history, Morrigan included.

Eris, for his part, didn’t move his eyes off either him or Feyre, only curling the edges of his once it was only himself and the Archeron sisters in the room. 

“If I seem to remember correctly, you weren’t the most forthcoming last time, Lord Autumn.” He stated bluntly, not caring if the prick was offended or not, trying to get back on track and figure out exactly _why_ the fuck this male was sitting in front of them. He was worried and still rattled from what he’d witnessed with Feyre and not in the mood to play court games with the newly minted High Lord of Autumn, no matter how tentative their alliance was and stood to be ruined. Not with how Morrigan had left the room, radiating her emotions about her former betrothed. “Will that change this time? Or should I ask you to come back at a better time?”

Eris merely stared between them both for a moment, then shrugged, finally flickering a glance towards Elain, but seemingly dismissing her before looking their way once more. “I’ll aim to improve my countenance, then, High Lord and High Lady Night. Please, accept my _sincerest_ apologies for my error. I’m still new at all this, you know.” The smile he cast towards them both made Rhysand bristle once more, but he subdued the natural response to question him further, glancing over to Feyre and stroking the inside of her wrist, allowing her to read the male’s intentions.

She didn’t disappoint. “What my mate is too polite to say is that we’re very short on patience tonight, Eris. Either you’re here to help the Night Court in some way, or you’re in our way. If it’s the latter, then do yourself a favor and get out while you still can.”

“Threats, my lady?” Eris asked coolly, tilting his head to the side. 

Feyre merely smiled. “You know as well as I do, Rhysand is more powerful than you. It’s only a threat if you stand a chance of coming out ahead, and I think we both know you won’t. Consider it a promise.”

Eris’ ember eyes flickered towards Rhysand, where he smiled, flashing his teeth in the process. He didn’t always _want_ to be the one Prythian hated and feared, but often times fear was a powerful motivator and one he wanted to establish early with Eris. He didn’t know the young male in front of him, but he was raised by and part of Beron’s court, and _that_ male had been malicious on his best days, no doubt breeding it deeply into Eris’ character, if his past history with his cousin was any indication. Eris had, in some small way, played a part in Morrigan’s fate all those seasons ago, so he was more prone to believing the male in front of him capable of the cruel acts his father and Rhysand’s uncle had done.

Eris, for his part, finally nodded and sent them both another smile - this one slightly more subdued. “Duly noted, High Lady Night.” He pointedly remained seated and Rhysand felt Feyre’s fingers flex against his wrist, silently giving him approval to continue.

 _Gods, I love you,_ he sent her way, before glancing back to where Elain lingered by the window sill, watching her eyes only briefly flicker towards Eris, a troubling look flashing across her face before that, too, dissolved and she looked once more out the window.

 _I know,_ she responded smugly, making him bite back a chuckle as he called for wine and sweet tea for his pregnant female. Leaning back in his seat, he sighed and decided to see just how serious Eris was taking their alliance.

 

* * *

 

**Mortal Lands Coastline**

 

By the time they landed, hours later, it was dusk and cold, the winds wailing faintly along the white chalky coastline that rose steadily behind the flat beach Astra drifted towards. The further south they had flown, the more brisk the air seemed to become, reminding Astra that Prythian was a magical place - bound together by the magic of the High Lords, and while Spring lasted eternal in any area overseen by the High Lord Tamlin, here along the coast of the mortal lands, it was a bitterly cold Autumn or early winter night. Their land lacked the essential Cauldron-laced powers, prone to all seasons rather than one extended unnaturally long. She shivered, unprepared for the cold, but before long, she felt Azriel’s feet crunching into the shattered shale pellets and churned up seashells behind her, his larger form blocking most of the wind.

Smiling faintly his way when his hands rose and rubbed along the cold leathers against her back, she felt Bryaxis shift briefly beneath her skin, then grow quiet, allowing her a moment to realize something she hadn’t picked up until just then - there was a heaviness in the air she’d felt only one other time, the night she’d escaped the Spring Court estate. Azriel must have summoned the shadows to shield them, even as they drifted towards a seemingly empty coastline, but she was beginning to understand the significance of being overly cautious. They were, after all, no longer in friendly territory. She flushed, embarrassed she didn’t even think about doing such a thing, when she felt him rub his hand against hers, threading his fingers through her own before he looked about.

 _Relax,_ he gently murmured down the bond, surprising her with the surge of annoyance she could feel from his side of the bond - which was directed oddly, at himself. _If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I’m the seasoned one here and really, I should have pressured you more during those months you sequestered yourself away from me. Gotten to know you, prepare you for this line of work. I’m...sorry._

She blinked, realizing he believed those words. Shaking her head, turning and tucking close, kissing his jaw, she reached up and brushed that fringe of unruly dark hair out of his eyes. _Don’t be,_ she admonished him, in the same soft coaxing tone he’d just used on her. _I’m equally to blame. I had such horrible things churning through my head at the time, over everything that happened, I wouldn’t have listened to you or answered the door anyways. And if you’d tried to force me to listen, I might have resented you for it. We’ll work on it together._

Azriel lowered his eyes, a frown still playing at his lips, and she loved seeing such an emotion on his face, knowing how rare it was. _I hope, one day, you’ll tell me about them. The things that keep you up at night._

She swallowed, staring up at him, lingering with her hands pressed against his chest. She didn’t want to add the next part, worried that she’d weaken what was growing between them, but knew she had to say it all the same. She’d sensed it, ever since they bonded - the darkness that lay deep inside the male standing at her side. _If I do, will you tell me about yours?_

Azriel stared at her with such intensity, it was on the tip of her tongue to take back the words, but then she felt him tremble briefly and then nod, nudging down to kiss her briefly across the lips. _Yes._

That one word released all the tension she felt. Not long after, Azriel nudged her to follow him, indicating where they were headed, up a steep embankment, towards a shrouded area of the beach that was difficult to see from the sea, or the grassy cliff side above them.

 _Come, this way,_ he said to her along the bond. _Up ahead is a safe place to settle for the night. Let Bryaxis stretch his legs, feel and guard us, and we’ll move at first light, if my contact doesn’t find us first. Warn your bonded to not eat my own contacts, though, would you?_

Astra blinked, staring up at Azriel as they walked, his fingers laced with hers. Once more, that niggling feeling to ask him about his pain treatments for the burns lingered in the back of her head, but she was more startled to realize what he’d said. _You have spies down here?_

Azriel glanced her way, his mouth curving wolfishly. _Darling, of couse I do. I’m the Spymaster of the Night Court._

Dimly, in the back of her head, she heard Bryaxis chuckle as he fully woke. Astra merely trudged along, trying her best to understand how a simple Illyrian village girl and daughter of a War Chief had ended up here of all places.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Sicyon, Capital City of the Day Court**

 

He tumbled heavily into the tufted chair by the fireplace near his bed, staring in shock into the warm amber flames.

He had a _son._ A **_son_** _._

Looking up sharply, his fingers curled tightly around the crystal tumbler in his hands - the aromatic dark liquor nearly sloshed over the rim, threatening to spill onto his robes - he couldn’t help but ask, for at least the third time, the same thing once more to his diminutive guest who sat in the chair across from him. “You’re sure?”

Aurelia sighed, nodding her head, her gaze also transfixed by the low fire he’d started once he’d tugged her into his en suite of rooms, after getting over his initial shock at seeing her in his court, proclaiming their affair had resulted in a -- a….

“A son,” he murmured, rolling the word around on his tongue, trying to get used to the very idea that what he’d wanted for centuries had, in fact, happened - made even sweeter by the fact it was with _her_ . Suddenly, a cold panic descended on him just as quickly as the honeyed madness of realizing his dreams had come to fruition, making him nearly choke out the next words. _Please tell me no…_

“Did he ever know? Or suspect?”

Aurelia glanced over his way a moment, still using her cloak like a piece of armor, wrapped tightly up in the confines of the crimson and gold colors of Autumn. He wanted to tear it off her, drape her in the bright colors of his own court, willing to do whatever it took to banish the shadows from her eyes. Why _were_ they so shadowed, even now? Was it because of the lingering ghost of her late husband, or something more real and recent? Sitting up sharply, he sat aside his drink, intending to reach for her. If someone was threatening her now, he’d do nothing short of butchering and torturing them. She was no longer married; a widow that had waited the proper amount of time to be courted again, and he _would_ court her again, especially now learning that he had a son by her. 

Before he could say anything further, ask those questions that had begun to pluck at his fears, enraging him and dragging out a possessive side he’d only felt around her, she spoke, her voice whisper soft and tired. “Not for sure, no,” she whispered, holding his gaze for a moment with her lovely brown ones, the shade of molasses caught in the sun, “He suspected, though. He never got definitive proof, but…”

“He made you suffer regardless, even suspecting,” he bit out, his tone flinty, hinting at the deeply buried fury there he had no hopes of hiding, only blunting. Eternally grateful she merely nodded, instead of flinching away from him in fear, he finally settled on his choice of what to do, reaching across the expanse separating them and taking her hand with his before she could object. She glanced his way again, those eyes still shadowed - sad, like she too mourned what they should have had all those years ago, but were cheated out of, having been scooped up by Beron and her family’s greed before they could figure out what this was exactly between them - and he forced down his fury and urge to tug her into his lap and kiss away her worries.

“What’s his name?” He murmured, cupping her palm gently with fingers. Wherever the young male was, he’d fetch him, bring him back here - discreetly, of course - and when she explained to him who and what he was, he’d welcome him as his heir proper. He realized then, with a pleased pride that nearly made him shudder in pleasure, that he’d settled his council advisers’ long worries and had managed to secure an heir after all. It had been something they’d berated him about for centuries, knowing he needed to marry and secure a progeny. He was no longer young, not by Fae standards, no matter how outwardly unmarred he looked. It was a risk for the Day Court not to have an heir, unable to predict which of his many cousins, aunts, or uncles would have inherited his power after his passing if he wasn’t able to secure an heir.

Aurelia suddenly went tense, her fingers tightening against his own, and he stared at her in puzzlement, about to tell her he’d be willing to travel anywhere discreetly in Autumn to fetch the unsuspecting child, when her words once more had the ability to leave him shocked and speechless.

“It’s Lucien. He’s here, from my understanding. He...doesn’t know, Helion. I made very sure to shelter him from the rumors, even those his father would have started. I had hoped, by coming here, we could tell him together. I can’t stay long, but he needs to know. He’s your heir, Helion, as I am sure you suspect. I worry that, without the protection of a court, he could be hurt if his heritage is found out. He’s already lost so much, you see…”

He hadn’t heard anything past _‘It’s Lucien.’_ He swallowed thickly, reaching for the tumbler of alcohol, gulping it down with his one free hand as Aurelia continued, trying for the life of him to pay attention, but found himself unable to. In a moment, he’d ask her to repeat herself so he could focus, be there for his son, but he kept hearing those two words over and over inside his head.

_It’s Lucien._

 

* * *

 

 

**House of Wind, Velaris**

 

It took Cassian forever to catch up to her, she was that fast - running like a Death God was on her heels.

“ _Cauldron’s tits,_ slow down Mor!” He finally hissed, using his wings to propel him fast enough to grab her elbow and force her to slow long enough to get a word in edgewise. “I know seeing him must be like a blade to the heart, but he _is_ the High Lord of Autumn now, you knew this day would come eventually. Slow down, will ya? I just--”

She spun so fast, her fist raising, he blinked before he felt it clip his chin, then land more forcefully against his shoulder. Clearly, if she’d wanted to, she could have clocked him so hard he’d have seen stars for hours afterwards. He stumbled, keeping his grip on her elbow locked tight, forcing her to sway with him, where he used his wings and winnowing power to tuck them close together, then move them to the streets of Velaris, in a warehousing district, where they could have this tussle in an area without prying eyes.

“ _Ow_ , damnit!” He barked, rubbing his chin even as he let her go, watching her eyes darken in equal parts shame, pain and burning fury. “Listen, I know what you’re feeling right now. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but--”

“Just _shut up!”_ She suddenly yelled, tossing her hands up in the air and turning, showing him her tense back and stiff shoulders. He heard her sniffle, reaching up to no doubt wipe at her eyes and gain control of herself while facing away from him. “I fucking know how I should be acting. He’s a High Lord now, and we’ve all got to get _along._ I fucking know, Cass. I just--every time I look at his face, I feel that nail being hammered into my--my--” She shuddered violently and when he would’ve reached for her again - discomfort and horror twisting his guts, knowing this story all too well - she turned and looked back his way, a mask that reminded him too much of his own mate in place, subduing her emotions, if not the reddened puffiness around her eyes, she went on. “One day I’ll be able to be calm around him, but that’s not today. Not while he acts like I was an inconvenience and still manages to scheme with my father, now protected by what he is even more than before.”

He didn’t really know what he could say to that, remaining quiet, letting her work it out for herself, watching as she shuddered again and glanced away, studying the buildings that lined the dense streets, empty except for them. Finally, she spoke, filling the silence. “I’m going to go south again, to Spring, do what I told Rhys I would do. With Eris buttering up my father, you no longer need a liaison to the Nightmare Court. Let _him_ do it,” she spat, glancing his way once more. Having known her so long, he could see the tense fractures under that mask -- the wounds were still too fresh for her to entirely remove emotion out of her words and actions here, with Eris’ presence always promising to be too close. “I’ll better serve us down south. I’ll train the soldiers there, be another set of eyes for you and the Circle, and…”

“I know, Mor,” He murmured, finally reaching up and squeezing her shoulder, watching her eyes slam shut as a shudder rippled through her. He wouldn’t reach for her, not unless she wanted it, and from what he could tell, a hug may shatter the control she was grasping for so desperately. “Write us, let us know what’s going on, but also let us know what’s going on with _you._ Family first, court second. You know this.”

She nodded, opening her eyes and glancing back over at him, her expression unreadable for several moments. Finally, she managed to smile, shrugging off the hand he’d placed on her shoulder, stepping back a few places. “Nesta better take good care of you. I kind of like your ugly face,” she whispered, a small teasing taunt buried in the trembling words she whispered out, making him grin.

“If anyone could, it’d be her,” he agreed. He looked to the sky. “Go. I’ll head back to that cluster fuck of a meeting, let him know what you said once he’s gone. Be safe, Mor.”

When he turned back to where she’d been standing, she was already gone.

 

* * *

 

**Mortal Lands Coastline**

 

She woke to whispered words being spoken over the crackling of a small fire, twigs and thick tufts of grass being devoured by flame, turning to dust in that familiar consuming sound.

Sitting up, she rubbed at her eyes, looking down and noticing her tattoo was missing. Before she’d slept, she had tugged off her gloves and bracers. Noting Azriel must have taken a fur from their packs and draped it over her, she glanced across the small fire that barely added any light to the small cove he had settled them both in before realizing she was seeing her mate conversing with a... _human?_

Off in the distance, the shadows seemed thicker, richer, rippling in the massive shape of something she could only know as her bonded - Bryaxis. He flickered an amused sensation her way from the shoreline he prowled against, somewhat distracted in the way he moved. When she sensed the metallic hints of blood and fish, she realized he was eating and hunting, making her force her attention back on the human talking to Azriel.

He was slim, no more than a young man, perhaps in his early twenties or late teens, with a shock of white-blonde hair laced liberally with warm browns on the undersides near his neck and ears, his skin as dark brown as warm chestnut. Clearly, he was someone intimately familiar with the sun, his clothes coarse-looking and overly simple. A farmhand, maybe? Or servant? With the toughness of his knuckles and hands, the crinkles around his eyes, she would even wager that he might be a stable hand. 

“Gavriel, this is Aine,” she heard her mate murmur, gesturing to her. She sat up, not bothering to correct him, keeping her gaze firmly entrenched on the young man in front of her, keeping her expression schooled. The man studied her curiously, but not overtly, and it was then she suddenly realized he didn’t seem to see the large diaphanous wings curled against her back. She said nothing still, briefly nodding, reaching for the canteen of water she and Azriel had pulled out of their packs earlier.

 _Aine, huh?_ She commented down the bond, as she let Azriel keep talking, picking up what they were saying as she questioned Azriel curiously down the bond while they waited for the mortal to answer Azriel’s questions. _Why can’t he see my wings?_

Azriel, for his part, never even hinted that he heard her along the bond in the mortal’s presence - in fact, he once more had that stoic poker face in place, where even she couldn’t guess to his emotions. The only indicator of his mood was the occasional hint of emotion from the bond they shared, telling her he was pleased and partially amused she’d picked up on both, had managed to school her features, and was able to further prove to her just how _good_ he was at this. No wonder anyone barely knew him; she wouldn’t have, the bond the only indication of his true feelings.

 _Because of us, dearie. Forgetting us so soon? Wings are easy, sleep induction is easy. We’re still waiting for you two to_ **_really_ ** _challenge us. Maybe with our cousin finally here, we will be._

She managed not to jolt at hearing the shadows - curious about the dual emotions buried in their reply, amusement and a soft, whisper-thin note of melancholy and sadness - sipping tentatively at the water in the canteen sparingly, listening to the mortal mumble on about harvest season being at risk, with the early cold fronts coming on. He laughed at something Azriel said, his words slurring, making her eyes flicker down to the canteen he was drinking from. So, he was drunk.

“Your wife’s pretty, mate,” The mortal finally managed to boast, glancing over Astra’s way, his brown eyes glazed over and shiny from too much alcohol, interest heavy in his eyes but his hands firmly wrapped around the canteen in his grip, a bright smile filling up half his face when he heard Azriel’s growl of warning. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my hands to myself. I like ‘em where they are, anyways. I know a besotted man when I see one. You’re like Timmy, my brother down in Ephesus. Got himself a girl we both fancied next door, the bastard. Married her and made sure she’s only got eyes for him, he did. They moved when her Pa got a deal of sorts to supply the paper mills in the Capital. Say, didn’t you say you two both came from further down the continent? Know how to read and write and all that fancy stuff?”

Astra had no idea what to say - what was this man doing here? Why was he drunk? Why was he talking about his brother and sister-in-law, that ran a paper mill in the...human capital? Looking over at Azriel, she watched him smile, beginning to suspect what Azriel wanted from him. This mortal clearly wasn’t the spy Azriel had referred to, so what was he? Had he been sent by the spy? For what purpose?

“Indeed we do,” Azriel murmured, finally glancing over to her. “Don’t we, darling? We’ve lost some of our goods along the way, highwaymen and all that, but we’ve gold and a good craving for knowledge and work. Why...know anyone looking?”

 _What the hell are you doing? Who is this guy?_ Not that she didn’t trust him, but she was worried she’d slip up whatever pact of lies Azriel was pitching, not knowing what to say or do if prodded. Going with her gut when the mortal looked her way, she sat up, keeping her fur clutched close to her chest, to hide the fact she was in leathers and covered in weaponry. She noticed Azriel’s was missing, no doubt buried in the sand, somewhere within easy reach.

“That’s right,” She murmured, doing her best to look excited but not desperate, glancing over the mortal. “We’re good for the work, promise. In fact, if you steer us in the right direction, perhaps we can put in a good word with your brother and his wife?” Going out on a limb, she leaned forward, purposefully keeping her tone flirty and amused. “Maybe she has a sister.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, the mortal’s glazed eyes taking on a fevered sheen. So, there _was_ a sister, it seemed, and this poor mortal man was lonely enough to take the bait. Part of her felt saddened at his obvious excitement at the concept of having someone to love, watching as he stumbled over his words.

“Tell them Gavriel Holden sent you,” he sputtered out, slurring his words, trailing his gaze between the two of them. “Now, I ain’t supposed to say anything, but Timmy’s got an account with this odd sect there that the Mortal Queen Morgana and the others have taken on. Real tight-lipped, but they look the type to want to hire scribes like you two.”

Azriel’s dark eyes flickered briefly at that, making Astra hold her breath. “What about the wards in the city, though? I’m afraid we lost that, too.”

Gavriel grinned, reaching in his pocket and handing something over to Azriel. “Hell, have mine. It should work for the two of you. I don’t go to the Capital anymore, not with Timmy there. He hires someone to bring me whatever I need. But, uh, maybe give me a few gold for it, eh? I’ll have to file for a replacement and...well, they ain’t cheap.” The mortal seemed a little over eager as Azriel smiled and continued to talk to him, Astra glancing down and looking at the metal object, that looked like a hexagonal pin one would drop in your pocket or tie to your cloak. 

She managed to keep the shock out of her face and her breathing even, noting symbols like the ones her brother had painted onto her. So, that was how they kept their city protected? Azriel mentioned wards, is that why they didn’t head directly to the human capital? 

Leaning back, she kept the furs tight around her body as Gavriel laughed and sipped once more on his canteen. She didn’t know what Azriel had planned for the man - hopefully he wouldn’t kill him, but this was war and she’d seen worse in her life, from even her own brother - swallowing and sipping on her water as she waited for what would happen next.

Azriel briefly looked her way, worry flickering own the bond. She smiled his way, letting the love she felt shine through her eyes _and_ the bond. Remembering what those Alchemists had done to unsuspecting Illyrian warriors and families, planned to do further, made whatever was to happen to the man sitting with them less difficult to take.

 _Whatever happens, I’m in with you for the long haul,_ she let him know down the bond. 

She didn’t like the idea of killing Gavriel, but she also wouldn’t get in the way of Azriel if he thought it best. He was the Spymaster, he knew better than her. As long as he wasn’t shoving a blade in her hand, demanding she be the one to do it, she would be able to stomach what came next.

He seemed to settle after that, placing a warm hand on her thigh under the furs and giving it a gentle squeeze, still entertaining the man even as he prattled on and her eyes grew heavy.

 _Sleep,_ he told her. _I will take care of this. When you wake, we’ll discuss what comes next._

Part of her wanted to ask what he meant by ‘I will take care of this.’ Did he mean he’d drug the man and let him go? Would he kill him and feed his body to Bryaxis or the fish the monster had glutted himself on earlier? 

Better yet - did she want to know? He was offering her the easy way out; go to sleep, take the decision away from her entirely, trust in him to be able to shoulder that decision - even the darker ones - and continue to do what they were tasked to do by Rhysand, sheltered under ignorance until she was ready to face the horrors of her newfound job and her mate’s past and employment.

Part of her was dismayed, disappointed even, that she chose sleep - but the bigger part of herself recognized she still had limits, and knowing Gavriel’s fate would push her past them and Azriel and Prythian needed her of sound mind to see what the Alchemists planned next. With that, she once more drifted off to sleep tucked against Azriel’s side.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Past, Illyrian War Training Camp near Mount Ramiel**

When Azriel finally came to, it was with a sense of frigid coldness, all the way down to his bones. His entire body felt stiff; smeared with a mixture of ice and half-frozen mud from the feel of things. His joints ached, painful prickles of needle-like agony shooting along his form as he tried to move against the sluggish numbness that fought for control of his mind and body. His toes and fingers hurt the most the longer he moved them, the cold barely registering to his senses the longer he wriggled them, wincing at the needle-like reaction as he did so, the tell-tale aches in his body hinting that he had been here for a while - not knowing where _here_ was. 

He sat up, fear and confusion making him inhale sharply, the stringent scent of pine needles and clay shocking his nostrils. 

_I’m outside?_

The confusion led to more panic - causing him to inhale sharply as he tried to pick out where he was. Nothing smelled or looked familiar, and it was so damn _cold._ Shivering wildly, he pulled his pitiful wings around his form as he hunkered down and wrapped his arms around his knees, blinking into the moon-lit pine woods surrounding him. Everything _hurt--_ the sting of the cold almost visceral, cutting him to the core as he blinked off the crust of icicles cemented against his eyelashes, glancing around again and again, urgently looking for _anything_ that seemed familiar to him. The more he looked, the more his panic rose, until he was shuddering and gasping so hard, his lungs began to ache against the harsh arctic air that clung to the forest. With the pain and the alien forest around him, he was too frightened to even be wary of the noises he was making. Eventually, he began to cry, his trembling wings weakly fluttering against his back. He couldn’t even fly away if he wanted to, having seen his brothers and father do it countless times. He was too weak.

Finally, he calmed himself enough to speak, forcing himself into a slow stand. Looking around, wondering if this was some test of his father or a crude prank of his brothers, he tried calling out to the darkened woods beyond the small strip of open mountainside he seemed to be standing on. “Is….anyone there? Father? Horus? Demeter? M-mother? _Anyone?_ ” 

As he waited, he studied the area. The trees weren’t familiar, nor the slope of the ground, or anything else his eyes landed on - including the large mountain in the distance - in a part of Illyria he didn’t recognize. As he stared at endless lengths of pine trees, snow, and mountains, just beginning to make out the edges of a village or camp of some kind in the distance through patches of falling snow, he tried to wrack his memory to understand what had happened before he'd blacked out. It came back to him in small patches; his father’s roar of anger and pain, his brothers telling his father that they had guests and he was making a fool of himself and his family, his father ignoring them, hitting one of his brothers, making his way to the cave, beating him, _terrifying him,_ then the shadows had-- _what?_

He blinked, shuddering for another reason beyond the bitter cold woods he now found himself in. What _had_ the shadows done? Had they killed his father? How had he gotten out here? Where _was_ here?

“ _N-No, no, no, no, no_ ,” he began to chant, clutching his hair frantically as he paced back and forth in the snow. _What had he done?_   _What had happened to his family?_ No matter how vile his father, brothers and stepmother were, he didn’t want to be like them; he didn’t want to be a _monster,_ not really. Sure, he’d thought of it, countless times, making them suffer-but to really do it? To really harm them? He didn’t want to be like that _._

It took him a moment to realize that suddenly, he couldn’t hear the wind or smell the wet mineralized scent of snow and mud caked on his skin and clothes. In fact, he sensed nothing outside of what he could see. This wasn’t like when the shadows had helped him in the past, either, this felt more malevolent than that - predatory and hungry, with its sight focused solely on him. Suddenly, he felt very exposed, going immediately silent and glancing around. 

“Who’s there?” He whispered aloud, when nothing changed. He didn’t know _how_ he knew, only that he did, that whatever had caused the unnatural silence around him was not the shadows themselves, but something far worse.

Nothing answered back, making his fear ratchet up until he was nearly in a panicked frenzy, but he refused to show it. Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, he screamed out at the silence around him, proud of how unafflicted he sounded, even as his heart hammered wildly in his chest. _“Answer me!”_

 _I’m the one that controls your precious little shadow friends,_ a sudden whisper filled his ears, making him shriek and reach up, clamping cold palms against either side of his face. It wasn’t like any voice he’d heard before, louder and more pernicious than the gentle, comforting whispers he’d heard from the confines of the dark before. He was so frightened by this new voice, he said nothing, even as he felt its amusement. _You are safe now, isn’t that what you wanted?_

“Not if you killed them! I’m not a... _m-monster!_ ” he sobbed, trembling, his body so bloody cold his teeth clattered inside his head, feeling tears freeze on his cheeks.

 _Seems like you might be in denial, child._ The voice spoke in harsh criticism, bristling with annoyance and disgust. _Besides, with the way they treated you? So what if you are? Is that such a bad thing?_

 _“Shut up,”_ he whispered, shaking his head, rocking on his heels as he wrapped his arms around his frail form. “I’m not one. I’m _not.”_

 _Come to me,_ the voice suddenly urged. _If you come to me, you’ll never have to worry about these pesky emotions again. We will be Gods, teaching those that hurt us what true pain is._

Azriel was shocked at the vehemence in the voice’s words; even more shocked by the sudden urge to give in to what it said. He tilted his head, peering with squinted eyes towards a spot on the horizon, feeling an urge in the core of his stomach to walk, run, even fly if his wings could adapt and carry him, and go where the voice compelled him to. He didn’t know what was in the north, only that it was where _it_ was, this thing that said it ruled the friends he’d had in the shadows of his isolated cell back home.

He took one staggering step towards that direction, when he suddenly halted, remembering the face of his mother - after his father, so like this creature, tortured the pureness of her spirit and crushed her will further each day. Suddenly, he couldn’t do it, no matter how tempting the voice.

“No,” he whispered, turning away.

 _What did you say?_ The voice snarled. _Are you defying me?_

He clenched his teeth, closing his eyes, begging like he had before in his cell when his father approached him, for his friends to return and drive away the voice. **_Go away,_ ** he told the voice, turning and walking in the opposite direction, not sure where he was going, only that it led away from that _thing,_ feeling relief that the further he walked, the less he felt the oppressive silence, until suddenly, he felt a balming warmth that signaled one thing - his friends were back. Still, he kept moving, afraid to stop, worried that the voice and the prenatural stillness would return, compelling him north, towards where that voice resided. Eventually, they spoke to him, their voices so soft inside his head he almost missed what they were saying. 

 _Look,_ they whispered, _in the distance there. See what we want you to see._

He didn’t know why he listened to them, perhaps because on some instinctual level he knew they’d saved his life, had been there for him in his most dire moment, even if they'd led him to hearing that eerie voice that frightened him - so he looked.

There, miles away but still able to clearly be seen through the rapidly falling snow, was what appeared to be a training ground. Multitudes of boys sat in arena, on the edge of what appeared to be a war camp, some in as bad of shape as he was, but they were all there doing one thing, circled around a group of adult males. They were training.

 _They’re learning to become strong, independent warriors._ They whispered. _Like you will be one day, even against the one that just called you. You resisted him, that is...good._ As he stared, he watched as the boys tried copying the lessons the older males were teaching them. Not all were successful, but they were learning, adapting, becoming stronger. Suddenly, he wanted that more than _anything_ \- more than knowing his mother’s name, more than seeking revenge on his brothers and his father, if they were still alive, from what they’d done to him and his mother, more than learning whatever that voice had been. He wanted to be the best and be in control of his life for once.

 _Go,_ they challenged him, coalescing around his neck and limbs and wings, managing to buffer the brisk winds and further warm his fragile form. _Go there, learn, and become the best. We will help you._

He didn’t know how they’d broken away from the voice he’d heard, but he was too exhausted to ask. Instead, he did as they suggested, making his way towards the training camp, and the older males training the boys - some of those boys like him, emancipated and weak but shining with something he’d never expected to feel in his whole life - _hope_.

 

* * *

 

**House of Wind, Velaris**

 

Rhysand looked up as Cassian slipped in quietly, his expression so subdued that spoke volumes despite the General’s silence. Eris’ unexpected appearance and continued interest in the tentative alliance between Autumn and Night had pulled at the unhealed wounds buried in Morrigan’s past and she’d left the Court, probably heading towards Spring, to intercept Azriel and Astra of what had come to light since his visit to the Prison. He forced himself not to sigh, flickering his gaze back to where Eris and Feyre talked at the table and then towards Elain, who continued to stare mutely out the window at the far corner of the room in that odd fashion of hers. 

Motioning Cassian to the other side of the room when his General pegged him with another weighted stare, he stood and fashioned Eris with a brief cursory smile, stepping away and heading towards the far wall Cassian leaned against. Feyre flickered him a brief glance, but continued holding Eris’ attention, and he flashed her a thankful smile as he moved away. Eris, it seemed, proposed an alliance by marriage - his brothers for the Nightmare’s elite-trained guard, willing to marry his immediate family into the most prominent of his uncle’s family and network of cousins. While this piqued his curiosity - _Why would Eris need an army of Nightmare trained warriors against his own people? -_ he wanted to hear what Cassian had to say, knowing Feyre could explain the situation later. 

“Well? How is she?” He asked, aware of the eyes on him but keeping his voice low. He worried for Morrigan, but couldn’t apologize for doing what he had to - flourishing allies to keep those he loved most safe, especially given their newfound enemies.

Cassian leaned down once he was near, murmuring in his ear. “Mor went to Spring, to see if she can catch Azriel and Astra and warn the others what we’ve learned. She asked that she be allowed to stay. Since Eris is so eager to form that alliance, make him earn it. He can be a liaison between her father and yourself.”

Rhysand waved a hand. “That’s done, it seems. Eris is either eager to pawn off his brothers, worried they’re vying for his throne, or his court is more bloodthirsty than Keir’s. How _is_ she?” 

Cassian ogled him with a briefly horrified expression, understanding immediately dawning with Eris’ alliance suggestion, before his face drew into a pensive silence. Eventually, he shrugged. “She’ll be alright, Rhys. She understands, even if she hates the idea. She just needs some time away, but she’ll be back. She’s family as much as any of the rest of us, you know that. If you _really_ need her here, she’ll be back, but I’d give her space for a bit - until she can wrap her head around the idea of Eris being a frequent guest.”

Rhysand sighed, nodding faintly in understanding, his eyes drawn once again towards the new High Lord of Autumn, and the male that had caused his cousin so much pain. He was, as always, completely composed as he talked with Feyre, looking more or less completely remorseless for all the bloodshed he’d caused to those he loved in the past -- but then, couldn’t he say the same?

“Well, look at it this way,” he finally murmured, glancing back to Cassian, who’s eyes trailed towards the High Lord of Autumn in their midst, “Keir is getting those marital alliances he always wanted, just not at the expense of his daughter.”

“Yeah,” Cassian muttered, but Rhysand could hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. It didn’t make matters better; it potentially made them worse, knowing what Morrigan had suffered to extract herself from the marriage alliance with Eris in the first place. Hopefully none of her cousins were of the same mindset.

 

* * *

 

**The Mortal Lands, Ephesus, Capital City of Ionia, Alchemist Headquarters**

Ikalis couldn’t believe what he was looking at, his steel grey eyes narrowed as his inner fury rose, so fast his fists clenched painfully and unfettered magic roiled just at the edges of his knuckles, creating a brief flicker of havoc in the filthy cell beneath the formal temples of his fellow acolytes. _How is this possible?_

Sudden coldness and an eerie silence pressed at his back before he heard the voice of his master. “It seems there’s been a development you neglected to mention.”

He turned, dropping himself to one knee, more irritated at appearing negligent than fearing his master’s wrath. If his master doubted his abilities, he would never learn what he wanted and be able to take his rightful place at his side, teaching the fae dogs what he wanted them to learn - humans were strong and just as able to cut them down as they had to his kind for centuries.

“It seems that his allies breached the stronghold,” Ikalis hissed, unable to keep the keen rage out of his tone as he looked at the empty shackles on the floor. “I will have our strongest hunt them down, and--”

“No,” his master interrupted him. “You’ll do nothing. We will proceed as planned, I leave tonight. Instead, you will stay here and I will...train you as you’ve always wanted. Those that rescued your captive cannot be the only ones here. More will come...and you will be ready for them when they arrive.”

Ikalis was speechless, but smiled nonetheless. He would _finally_ know what he wanted from his master.

Bowing his head, he kept his tone as subservient as he could. “Yes, master.”

_Finally._


	15. Chapter 15

**Carthage, Port City on the Outskirts of Ephesus, The Mortal Lands**

 

“Would you prefer to stay here for the evening or sleep outside, like we have been?”

Astra glanced over the rim of her ale cup, studying the way Azriel leaned back on the bench across from her, appearing relaxed and oblivious to the boisterous tavern occupants around them to the casual observer, but she knew better. He was no doubt cataloging every man, woman and servant of the small log-dwelling  they’d run across in their travels and the most efficient way to get them out in record time, even if that meant hurting a few between them and the door. 

She shrugged, honestly beyond caring at this point, too weary from the drizzly weather they’d endured the past two days to care either way, she just wanted to sleep. “Doesn’t matter, really. Rain’s dried up, so has everything else.” Still, she contemplated the idea of a bath and fresh linens, a lingering yearning for being outside of her armor for a few hours tugging on her desires. Looking up, she frowned faintly when she spotted it, knowing it would probably be there, but disappointed nonetheless when she saw it.  _ Damn. Their shit is fucking everywhere. _

“Got another one. You think this place is safe?” Her eyes flickered to Azriel then towards the front entrance, where a tin carving mounted on a  wooden platform rested - barely seen in the dim lighting of the room - nailed above the door. It was another alchemist symbol in that language they’d created, something that made Astra more and more uneasy as they headed to the capital city where the mortal queens and the alchemists lived - and held Jurien. It seemed whatever language they’d created had all but perforated the entire mortal continent, at least much of the coast, from what she could tell. They hadn’t been near a single dwelling yet that didn’t have at least one alchemist symbol in it, and they weren’t even to the capital yet. Astra wondered what other -  _ stronger  _ \- wards waited for them. Would they be able to get past them this time, with Bryaxis’ help, when Azriel had been unable to before?

Azriel nodded slowly, not even looking over his shoulder, simply studying her and taking another sip of his own ale. He’d probably seen it the moment they’d entered the lodging. “Yes. It is a harmless enough symbol, according to our friend.”

They hadn’t spoken in the bond - not once - since they’d begun running across the symbols and other mortals. Azriel wanted to play it safe, pretend to be human so much so that magic wouldn’t be detectable around them, since so much of it and the shadows were focused on hiding their wings as it was. So far, their luck had held, and they hadn’t triggered any wards or had their glamour fall. It didn’t mean she couldn’t tell when Azriel was stressed, though, feeling his tension or his nightmares down the bond when he slept or was on edge, though. She sensed none of those things tonight, so she believed it when he said they were safe..for now.

Astra finally nodded, feeling the stiffness in her spine relax by a considerable degree, relieved to have a chance to bathe, clean up her armor and appearance, and perhaps even make love to her mate - another unfavorable outcome of the way they’d been traveling for days. By the gleam in his eye, he seemed to be thinking the same thing. 

“Well, then a room is in order, I suppose,” she murmured, catching Azriel’s stare. “Can we pay for a drawn bath, too? Maybe some spare linen and a whetstone?” She swallowed at the dark, intense look he gave her before standing and walking towards the bar. Anticipation flooded her veins as he leaned over, addressing the tavern owner, and she squeezed her inner thighs together, ready to be alone with him for the evening. As if on instinct, he looked over his shoulder, meeting her gaze once more as the tavern owner nodded and wandered off - perhaps to fetch keys to their room - and she knew he was planning on thoroughly sating himself on her before they headed out in the morning. She wouldn’t get much sleep and would probably spend the next morning exhausted, but she didn’t care. She wanted him,  _ badly.  _

Forcing her gaze away, she briefly looked back once more at the symbol nailed above the tavern door, distracting her anxious nerves with the best thing to cool her rising ardor. It did the trick, the hideous language regurgitating one of the worst moments of her life - when her brother had bathed her in similar symbols, then ripped her life force away to feed his own morose need for revenge. She shuddered and slanted her eyes away once more, looking around the room at those laughing and having a merry time, wanting nothing more than to shove those memories in the darkest part of her mind and forget about them. Taking a cautious sip of her ale, she reached up, smoothing her fingers idly over the pendant that Azriel had taken off the first human they’d run across.

Bryaxis couldn’t read the language when she’d questioned him - saying many components of it weren’t from his world, where they had used sound and silence instead of written symbols - but he was able to tell the level of power they radiated, being mostly what gave the symbols weight and the ability to manipulate the ancient languages combined with his own world’s power. He’d grown silent after this - too silent - and she wondered if he was leaving something out and not telling her everything he knew. She was too tired lately to press the matter and let it drop.

They’d been lucky so far, his power and those of his cousins, the shadows -  _ his words _ \- were able to overwhelm the meager symbols they’d run across thus far and keep their wings and obvious Illyrian heritage secret. There were enough mortals of their own coloring, from what she’d seen the past few days on the road after she’d woken up in Azriel’s arms at the banked fire on the beach, sans the human man Gavriel, so they didn’t seem to attract much attention. Their cloaks hid most of their armor and weaponry and when it didn’t, that seemed unnoticed, too. Despite things going well, Astra felt a sense of unease building within her - like their luck was approaching an end and would begin the moment they stepped inside the capital city just another day’s away. She hoped Azriel had a plan and that Rhysand hadn’t sent them on a fool’s errand to rescue Jurian. Despite resisting him at first, she realized she wanted to get to know her mysterious mate, go back home with him - have a life with him. 

_ Are you still asleep?  _ She finally asked, working up the courage to use a tiny bit of internal dialogue - to the sleeping giant underneath her skin.  _ Sense anything we should be worried about? I can’t help shake this feeling…. _

Nothing responded and she sighed, draining her cup and preparing to stand when the tavern owner returned, handing Azriel a key. 

Bryaxis hadn’t woken up much, barely responding to her at all in the past few days, using the night to gorge himself on fresh kill. Other than letting them know if the symbols they encountered posed a risk to them or not on occasion, he had done nothing but feed and feed and  _ feed.  _ Maybe he was resting, still overly tired from bonding to her - he had let it slip that the cost of removing his mark from Feyre had been intense - or maybe he preparing himself for the meeting with his brother, she didn’t know, nor did she ask. It was another thing that felt  _ wrong  _ in her gut, so she chose to ignore it and simply allow him the time he seemed to need.

Suddenly, she sensed a person standing at her side, feeling the heat of the stranger’s gaze upon her. She tensed, glancing over her shoulder, spotting a strange ginger-haired man with a strong muscular stature staring down at her. He appeared human but oddly intense for a mere drunk patron, and she knew better now than to assume what she saw was what was really there.

“Good eve,” she offered kindly, flicking her gaze back towards the bar, where Azriel was handing the owner some coin, then turned her gaze back to the man at her side. The intensity in which he took her in hadn’t waivered, but she wasn’t getting the impression he wanted to bed her. No, the intensity in his gaze told her he was inspecting her worthiness - as a swordswoman? A merc? Something else? - and she instantly felt unease ripple through her again. “Can I help you?”

“He’s never brought anyone down with him before,” the man finally spoke, his dark eyes accessing her once more. “This is new. Who’re you, then? New recruit?”

_ What did he just say? Did he mean Azriel? Does this man...know him?  _ Astra froze, steering her eyes towards his face, trying to assess what he meant by those words. She felt, rather than saw, Azriel’s stir of awareness in the bond that she had been spooked, knowing he was headed their way once more, feeling his inscrutable gaze on the pair of them. 

_ Play it cool,  _ she told herself.  _ Improvise. _

“Darling,” she murmured, reaching out and curling her fingers around Azriel’s elbow when he arrived at the table, fluttering her lashes so the man may  simply think she was Azriel’s companion, wife, or whore, glancing between the two of them as she stood slowly. “It seems this man knows you. Should I ask how?”

“You’re early, Rendon. You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow,” Azriel grunted, looking almost feral and dangerous for a fraction of a second before it faded, making Astra blink and second guess that she’d seen it all along. Glancing to her, reaching up and squeezing her hand with a flicker of softness in his eyes, he glanced back at the man who’d all but dressed her down with a glare, then jerked his chin towards the rooms down the hall. “Come with us.”

Blinking in surprise, not given much of a choice to follow, she felt Azriel lead the way, the ginger-haired male chuckling at her back as they moved towards the room Azriel had grabbed for them both.

“Things have changed and plans have been advanced. You can get your dick wet later, after I tell you what’s happened,” Rendon muttered at her back. She swallowed, realizing now that this male was a contact of Azriel’s, feeling him go rigid at her side.

Not even a few second later, down the hall and away from the others, Azriel whirled and slammed the man against the wall so hard, the lanterns shook loosely in their hooks. Astra blinked, not knowing what to say, so she simply stood there, watching the man blink and sputter, nearly losing consciousness before he jerked and scowled down at Azriel, who’s hands were around his throat.

“Never address my mate in such derogatory words again, soldier, or you’ll regret it.  _ Understood? _ ” Azriel’s words were a mere hiss, full of barely controlled fury. Shadows riled all around them, casting the hallway in pitch black, sealing their scuffle off from any others that might run across them. 

Rendon’s eyes widened, then glanced towards her. Realization seemed to dawn and he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he whispered, casting them downward. Astra blinked, stunned to see such a strong appearance of a man cowered in front of Azriel. 

Azriel loosened his hold, then gestured towards their door. “Fifteen minutes, then I want to be alone with my mate. Let’s go.”

Rendon stumbled into the room and Astra followed, feeling Azriel’s comforting arm against the small of her back. She’d never say it out loud, but the touch - and the possessive way he protected her - thrilled her.

 

* * *

 

**House of Wind, Velaris**

“Before we agree to this.. _ entente _ ..care to share how you and my uncle learned of the markings in the Prison before I did?” Rhysand remarked loudly, sliding into his seat by Feyre once more and reaching out for her hand, keeping his violet gaze pinned on the Autumn High Lord as he felt Feyre’s hand clasp his, her fingers twining with his own. Servants moved about them, pouring the drinks he’d called for, catching Cassian exit the room as Eris narrowed his eyes briefly in his direction. Elain never moved once, still silent and staring outside.

Eris briefly glanced to Elain before shrugging a shoulder, his amber eyes tilting back towards his own once he was done inspecting the silent Archeron sister. “Keir found parchments in the Nightmare Court about them, once you’d displayed that body for everyone to see, “ he finally commented, once the servants were gone, reaching for his drink and taking a lingering sip before continuing. “He said it seemed familiar...and he was right. Despite the Prison being hard to break out of, it’s not hard to gain information on the inhabitants and the cells...if you know the right people and are willing to pay the right price.”

Rhysand grit his teeth, his jaw flexing at the unsaid implications of Eris’ words. While Feyre had discussed the ‘who’ and ‘why’ of the martial alliance between their courts, he wanted to make specific things crystal clear before they both agreed, given what Beron had been like. He knew all too well not to fault the son for the sins of the father, but he was weary of further harming his people. “And this marital arrangement...while I will respect you’ll grow friendly with my uncle’s circle, I hope you understand no matter how close you get to them that it’s  _ me  _ that has the final say on whether this alliance and manpower you so desperately seem to need continues to be supplied. I trust if something strange - like discovering runes that would link our enemies to those that attacked my people in my lands - would be brought to my attention as soon as you’re aware of it?”  _ Don’t fuck with me and I won’t fuck with you _ was left unsaid, but Eris seemed to get the hint as his eyes frosted over with bitter understanding.

“Of course,” Eris spoke tersely, glancing between the two of them with a gimlet glare, a finger trailing along the rim of his wine glass. Finally, he sighed, setting aside the cup entirely, all appearances of haughty pretense leaving his face. For a moment, he looked tired - something Rhysand felt to his bones.

“The fact is, I need you far more than you need me,” he finally muttered, with a surprising amount of honesty, if the expression on his face was truthful. “We both know what a viper my father is - was,” he caught himself suddenly, eyes flashing between the two of them, Rhysand catching the slip of his tongue. “He was a poor High Lord; selfish, prone to deviousness, poisoning my court and my people, to the point we eat at each other like a cancer...not unlike your uncle, as it seems. I can sense what you’re trying to do here, Rhysand. You want peace. So do I, even if that means getting into proverbial bed with my enemies. I know Morrigan detests me, as do you. I bear the Vanserra name and what happened to her was...atrocious. Help me weed my garden, so to speak, and I’ll help do the same with your own.”

Rhysand blinked, unable to reply to the words he heard, left stunned speechless. He couldn’t have been more shocked if Eris had turned into a phoenix and burst into flame. The Autumn and Night Courts…. _ getting along? _ Only time would tell if Eris would remain true to his word, but it was too big an opportunity to waste.

_ He’s telling the truth,  _ Feyre commented, glancing over at Rhysand, nothing showing on her face, but her words down the bond carried the same surprise that his own internal reaction had been. He trusted her to know - she had a fraction of Helion’s gifts, after all.  _ Let him do it. It’ll also allow Morrigan time away from that duty. _

Rhysand never took his gaze off Eris, listening to Feyre, then finally nodded, tucking Feyre’s fingers tighter against his own. “Very well.”

 

* * *

 

**Sicyon, Capital City of the Day Court**

When he woke up, she was gone, the lingering smell on his sheets all he had left of her. He sighed, rolling on his side, feeling the cool silk slide against his skin, an emptiness in his chest that had remained hollow ever since she’d married the High Lord of Autumn all those years ago. Pride had refused to let him beg her to stay last night, even as too much drink had led him to kiss her, shocked when she hadn’t turned him away and reciprocated  - with what he had thought was unrequited love, the same he’d felt for her all these centuries later - but now she was gone.

_ Hadn’t she said she’d stay? Allow us to tell our son, together, who he was and what it meant? _

Bitterness filled him when he sat up, swiping hair out of his eyes, his fingers sliding across her pillow. Something crinkled under the sheets, making him frown and tug them down, blinking in surprise when he spotted something unusual - an inked parchment mixed among the sheets where he’d ravaged her four times during the night.

Plucking it up, he read.

_ I’m sorry to leave like this. Eris is in Night, playing his own game with Rhysand, but I must get home. My other sons are troubled and misled and play dangerous games that will shatter what little hopeful spirit is left in Autumn. We’ve both already seen what becomes of bitter fae, living all that time with Amarantha in her dungeon of pain and revenge. Forgive me for leaving, but I must do this. I trust you with him. You will do the right thing. _

_ PS, he is the best of the both of us. I do not regret it, even if it ended in heartache. I’ve never written or even said this before but I love you. One day, we’ll say it again to each other. Until then, protect our son. _

_ Yours, _

_ Aurelia _

He stared at the words, reading them over and over until his heart ached in a strange, melancholy way.  _ She loves me.  _

“Guards!” He shouted, folding up the letter and grabbing his robe, walking towards the fireplace and tossing the parchment inside, watching it turn to ash. He didn’t need the evidence she’d left found by anyone - she’d taken a big enough risk writing that and leaving it as it was - and he’d already memorized them anyways.

Turning, he heard them approach, thinking fast. “Lucien Vanserra. He is in the library, yes?”

“Yes, my Lord,” one offered, the other one stepping forward and bowing slightly. “Should we gather him?”

Helion looked back at the flames, where the remnants of Aurelia’s letter mixed with the ashes of last night’s wood. “See him to my parlor. Be discreet.”

Nodding, the two guards left the room.

 

* * *

 

**House of Wind, Velaris**

 

“S-Stop. P-Please.”

He wasn’t sure he heard the words at first, but paused, tilting his head around and looking down the darkened hallway that he’d just left, staring but not picking up on anyone there. Just as he was about to turn, intending to head home, still not believing he’d said what he had in front of both Feyre and Rhysand -  _ Where is your pride? You are a Vanserra, you fool!  _ He could practically hear his father’s patronizing voice in his head, making him clench his jaw and speed forward - when a peach-infused slip of skirt caught his eye.

He stopped, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head. He knew that dress, had seen it all morning, hovering against a windowsill like a pretty empty-headed bauble in the meeting room down the hall.

“Lady Elain,” he murmured, unable to keep the sneer out of his voice. What he’d seen of the weak-willed sister had left him far from impressed. As much as he loathed some of the things Feyre had done in the past, he respected her spirit, even enjoying the bitchy other one called Nesta. This one? The one rumored to be his brother’s mate? She was a wallflower - a simpleton with shallow emotions and a vapid temper wasted on memories of a past she’d never be part of again. “Have something to say? Spit it out, then. I’ve got things to do that involve more than spying in on meetings sitting on a windowsill.”

He heard her gasp as she stepped forward into the light. She was too pretty - large doeskin eyes and voluminous hair that curled wildly about her face - just the kind of whimsical, docile creature his brother would care for. Jessminda was the polar opposite from Elain in looks, but their temperament was the same. It disgusted him and he had a hard time disguising it, even knowing how he treated her could sabotage what he’d been doing all that morning.

_ I need those men,  _ he reminded himself. “Well?” He finally spoke again, when she did nothing but swallow and stare at him. 

“Your...marital alliance. Does it involve Lucien, too?” She finally whispered, her eyes hollow and sad, cheeks pinkening, but he had to respect the way she kept her eyes pinned to his face.

He blinked, wondering if he misheard her, but as she stared with that broken sense of anxiousness on her face, he couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped him. If only his brother were here! The look on his face would be priceless.

“My, what a fickle little heart you have, Lady Elain,” he couldn’t resist purring towards her, smirking with amusement as her color faded, making an ashen expression of pain flash across her face. “First, you would barely tolerate the sight of him. Now, you care if he’s married off to someone else? I pray the cauldron spares me a mate of your...caliber.” 

Suddenly, Elain stood straight, anger glinting in her eyes, making them appear almost gold, as she marched forward and snagged his arm. He startled, blinking at her, suddenly seeing something  _ else  _ present in her eyes as she stared up at him. Finally, she smiled, but it was cruel.

“No, he isn’t, it seems. Thank you for letting me see that.” She let him go just as fast as she’d grabbed hold of him, lifting her skirts and turning away. Just before she disappeared around the corner, she looked over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes. “As for your own…” She trailed off, flickering her eyes over his lean tall form, she chuckled and shook her head. “Well, you’ll know her when you see her. You’ll meet her soon, it seems, and all that you’ve reaped in the past on others? Fate is not without a sense of ironic humor, it seems.”

He felt a cold breeze waft by as he blinked, wondering why those words seemed so frightening. He looked down at his hands, noting they were trembling. Suddenly furious, he snapped his gaze back towards where she was -  _ how dare that little bitch make me nervous! She’s  just a sniveling little simpleton! -  _ but she was gone, leaving him alone and uneasy.

Snarling, he turned and winnowed home. Her words meant nothing -  _ nothing.  _


	16. Chapter 16

**The Past, Illyrian War Training Camp near Mount Ramiel**

 

“Rise and shine, you bastards! Let’s see what you got for me today, eh?”

Azriel awoke with a jolt, having huddled in a tight ball against the base of a pine tree last night after training had ended. He winced, the sudden reaction to his trainer’s booming voice startling him, making the sore muscles in his body silently scream in protest. Still, he did as the old warrior said, standing slowly, forcing his mind and body to cooperate, and headed towards the training grounds like Devlon commanded.

“Come back to get your ass kicked again, huh? At least you’re good at one thing...losing,” sneered another boy at his back, shoving him painfully between his shoulder blades, where his wings met his back. Agony flickered up his spine before he tumbled, headfirst into the snow, sitting up and glaring at the boy in question. His back was the worst part of his body lately, too sore to put into words how much it hurt, but he was determined to get his wings up to par with the rest of them, who already knew how to fly. 

He wasn’t much better off than Azriel was - dirty, dressed in rags - despite having a substantial amount of muscle on him. It didn’t mean much, the boy was still small for his age, but he wasn’t emancipated like Azriel was. He hated him on sight, wishing that - despite how shadows haunted the boy’s eyes, speaking to a past that held a kindling spirit to what his own must have been like - he had lived this boy’s life, not his own.

His name was Cassian, and he was a bully. A bully that, one day, he’d return the lesson that picking on weaker people didn’t make one strong. Between him and Cassian’s other nemesis - Rhysand, the other boy who picked on him but not nearly as much, but enough Azriel hated him just because he could see how well clothed he was and well fed - he found the motivation to stand up, snort at Cassian’s theatrics with a shoulder shrug and eye roll, and marched towards the training ground.

“Hey, you little shit, I’m not done with you!” Cassian fumed a few feet away, probably more upset that his little shove that landed Azriel in the snow hadn’t amounted to more when with other boys it did - leading to an all-out brawl Cassian seemed to crave, even when he lost and ended up a bloody, stuttering mess - but Azriel  ignored it, heading with the others towards where Devlon stood, passing bokkens to each boy that stumbled past him and waiting his turn for one.

“Shut your damned mouth, boy,” sneered Devlon in Cassian’s direction, thrusting the pommel of a well-used wooden practice sword in Azriel’s hand, shoving him towards the center of the training ring, “or I’ll make a damn example out of you and your little boyfriend here. Where’s your side piece, eh? Rhysand couldn’t make it today?”

Cassian grumbled something under his breath, but not loud enough for him or the trainer to hear. Azriel would have laughed at watching Cassian balk at Devlon’s words, but he’d seen the male reprimand a fellow trainee once and didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Devlon’s harsh way of hammering home a lesson. In the corner of his eye, he saw a female Illyrian in the distance, wearing a demure gown and cloak that, despite its plainness was stunning on the female, talking to a small boy dressed in the finest training garments of anyone else in the war camp.

 _Rhysand,_ his mind supplied, his stomach souring, along with his good mood. He hated what the boy had - a loving mother, a warm fire and bed each night, a full belly of food. He had none of those things. However, those things also made Rhysand a target, many of the boys more like him and Cassian that he would’ve liked to admit, so the boy fought his own group of bullies almost as much as Azriel did. When Rhysand’s mother touched his hair and smiled, looking back towards the training grounds, Azriel stiffened, forcing his gaze away, but too slow in doing so. Rhysand stilled briefly as he walked, having seen Azriel’s narrow-eyed stare at him and his mother, baring his teeth as he took a bokken from Devlon and weaved it before him in a threatening manner. Azriel swallowed, knowing what _that_ meant. He watched as Cassian plodded over to Rhysand, observing Rhysand tense for a moment before they both looked his way, a heavy stare from both boys directed at him. Despite the two of them not getting along all too well either, it seemed they had a mutual target in mind that made them frenemies for the day - him.

 _They want to hurt you. Do you want us to interfere?_ A concerned whisper licked at his earlobe. He shrugged off the shadow, turning to face Devlon, shaking his head. If he was going to be a good warrior one day, he couldn’t keep relying on them. They hadn’t ever told him what they’d done to his father or brothers to land him here and he’d been too scared to insist on the truth. For now, they helped him by whispering in his ear at night in the areas he was weakest in - what parries to practice, to strengthen his wings, which boys to partner up with that he could learn from but wouldn’t bully him, and for now that would have to do. 

 _No,_ he told them. _I need to fight this alone._

_And if they corner you and harm you? What then?_

He flicked his gaze back to the two boys in question. They were both staring at him with vengeance in their eyes. He sighed, turning his gaze back to Devlon, raising his bokken and squaring his shoulders, ready to start the training for the day. _Then I handle that on my own, too. I'll let you know if I need you. Just keep watching and telling me how to improve, okay?_

 _Of course,_ they whispered back, going quiet when the training started.

 

* * *

 

**Carthage, Port City on the Outskirts of Ephesus, The Mortal Lands**

 

Astra stared curiously at where the human man paced a few feet away, his back facing the outside wall and windows that were now covered in shadow, casting a nervous glance every few seconds towards Azriel, barely looking her way after they’d entered the Inn’s rented room once Azriel had announced who she was. Any other time, she would’ve found it amusing, but right now she was tired and just wanted this impromptu... _whatever this was..._ over and done with.

“Who are you, again?” She asked, not having heard it spoken between the group when they’d headed down the hall towards the room they now stood in. Clearly, he was working with Azriel, either on behalf of a faction of humans loyal to Vassa or the Night Court, which yet she wasn’t sure of, but she wanted to hear it from him either way so he could deliver his message and she could spend time with Azriel alone before the next portion of their mission - infiltrating the capital - kicked off.

Rendon glanced anxiously her way, then immediately dropped his eyes to the ground when her own met his. She raised an eyebrow and glanced sidelong at Azriel, knowing the man’s skittishness was due to him. _Was that really necessary in the hallway? He looks like he wants to piss himself._ She was amused and yet irritated at the hesitation in the human, knowing he hadn’t the courage to speak up yet as he feared another reaction from the Spymaster if he happened to say the wrong thing.

The corner of Azriel’s lips briefly twitched upwards for a fraction of a second, but he showed no outward remorse when the human gave a shuddering breath and seemed to gain control of himself. She sighed, shaking her head, feeling her cheeks pinken when Azriel gave her a heated stare, telling her without words that, in his mind, it had been _absolutely_ necessary. She rolled her eyes, even as her insides warmed as his earlier display of primal possessiveness towards her, turning back to Rendon when she heard him talk.

“I…” Rendon started to say, licking his lips, doubt flickering in his eyes as he slowly raised his gaze towards her once more, giving a fleeting glance towards Azriel before plowing on, “Work  for the Spymaster by request of High Lord Tamlin and Lady Shula.” Astra blinked, surprised by that, still slightly in awe that Spring and Night seemingly worked together now, in tandem, despite all the centuries of animosity between the two of them. She sobered when she saw the flash of desolation behind Rendon’s eyes, remembering again through her own history that war chose no sides and everyone was a victim. “I was below the wall, see, before the war,” Rendon continued, his voice subdued. “Wasn’t raised around Fae, but heard plenty of stories. Experienced it, too, when  the war was over and these...men...rode through our lands and rounded us up. Hurt us and our kin.”

He swallowed, a dark glimmer of anger casting over his face before he continued. “High Lord Tamlin’s men and women and...people like me...they came and found us, freed us, fed us and gave us a purpose. My kids and wife were starving, I was almost beaten to death a time or two, and the war had ruined our crops. We weren’t the most trusting of folk when they came, but they helped us regardless.”

Shame seemed to color his face and he lowered his head, shrugging his shoulders. “Felt wrong to judge all Fae as monsters when so many helped us survive after that. My wife and kids are doing well, I had crops and a home again, and….well, I realized that the lands below didn’t do shit to help us when we needed it.”

He spat on the floor. “When I figured out what they did with these Alchemist kind to hurt us there, down below the wall? I couldn’t tolerate it. I volunteered as long as my family was kept safe. I...get letters from them, from time to time, by way of your mate here. I was asked to watch for the Alchemist threat with my father’s family.”

At the mention of the word ‘Alchemist’ the man grimaced, his lip curling. From what she could tell - both visually and what the shadows confirmed for her and Azriel alike in whispers between them - this human didn’t approve of the changes being made to the Mortal Lands.

“You don’t approve, then?” She asked, admittedly curious about his take on the new sect of human magicians. She hadn’t moved from Azriel’s side, pinned against him with one of Azriel’s arms around her waist, a small kris dagger in her palm, her Azriel’s instructions between them down the bond before entering the room. It seemed, despite his contacts here being from Prythian, Azriel wasn’t against expecting duplicity.

Rendon blinked, staring at her in subdued horror. She supposed she had her answer then, but he obliged by commenting further, solidifying her assumptions that this man was firmly on their side. “I’m not against humans having some leverage against your kind,” he spoke honestly, making her nod - she could understand the sentiment after what had happened to her by her own brother’s hand - and he continued, shaking his head and lowering his eyes. “But not like this. Not this way. What magic they’re using...it’s wrong, miss. Taking people’s souls to fuel their own power? Giving some people everlasting life at the cost of stealing someone else’s natural one? Who gets to make the rules of something like that? The queens? These Alchemists? That’s-- _wrong_ , miss. It’s wrong and I won’t stand for it.”

Astra smiled faintly, understanding _all_ too well how he felt, having been one of those sacrificed to feed someone else’s lust for power and revenge. Her heart ached, making her chest briefly twinge in sympathy, and Azriel must have sensed how those words hit home, rubbing a leather-clad finger along her spine to reassure her.

“Your service is appreciated, Rendon,” she commented, glancing at Azriel, wondering again why he had remained silent through all of this, letting her speak. She wondered if he’d known all this about the man - _probably,_ her mind answered back - but when the man smiled her way, she felt relieved. “Tell us what you meant to give to the Spymaster...and we’ll see if we can send word of you to your family.”

She wasn’t sure if they could honor that promise, but Azriel had a way of coming through when others couldn’t. The man bowed his head briefly, glancing between the two of them, then continued.

 

* * *

 

**Sicyon, Capital City of the Day Court**

 

When the door opened to his parlor, he sat up, staring at the two guards and the tall, lean auburn-haired Fae that followed them. He swallowed, trying desperately to seem unafflicted and coolly detached, but he knew he looked off when the two guards cleared their throats and Lucien gave him a perplexed stare.

“Dismissed,” he waved a hand at the guards, not looking away from Lucien, gesturing for him to join him in the unoccupied chair sitting across from his, separated by an etched glass table, depicting the sun and clouds. Lucien smiled, the scars on the side of his face pleating with the restrained look of nervousness in Lucien’s good eye, and Helion felt his stomach bottom out when he zeroed in on the golden replacement eye Lucien had been granted after Amarantha had ripped the original out.

He’d been there that day, of course, at the time pleased it had been Lucien to take the brunt of Amarantha’s rage rather than himself, and now he felt disgust rising up his throat like bitter bile. _You watched her carve up his face, rip out his eye, heard his screams and were happy they weren’t your own -- and this is your_ **_son._ **

“You...wished to see me?” Lucien finally spoke, prompting Helion out of his nightmare of flashbacks. Helion swallowed, forcing another smile to his own face, motioning to his drink. Lucien shook his head, frowning, and Helion was one more lost in his son’s face, realizing now how much he appeared a blend of Aurelia and himself. 

 _What had she said?_ He thought, staring at Lucien’s auburn hair, so much like his mother’s, and golden skin, so much like his own. _That he was the best of both of us?_ Helion suddenly had to agree, knowing the horrid life Lucien had lived thus far.

 _Well, not anymore. Not if I have any say on the matter,_ he thought viciously with conviction. His son had been wrong horribly, but if he could help going forward, he would. By Lucien’s nervousness, though, he would have to ease his way into his son’s good graces and earn the trust that had been shattered so many times in his younger life.

“Tell me of your work. How are the libraries treating you? Are you enjoying your stay here?” He asked, when all he wanted to do was blurt out ‘You’re my son.’

Instead, he watched Lucien relax and ease into something he seemed far more comfortable to talk about than himself. Sipping on his drink, Helion did his best to listen, the pang of his heart reminiscent over the feelings he felt when he’d lost Aurelia replaced with finding something almost better - his child.


	17. Chapter 17

**Tamlin’s Estate, Spring Lands**

 

When Morrigan arrived, she realized she had winnowed herself directly in the path of two human guards, who startled at the sight of her, raising their weapons. She flashed them a smile of contritement and raised her hands in a surrendering motion, even as her eyes looked past them, towards the Spring estate in the distance. Luckily, they seemed to know who she was though she had never met these two directly, reholstering their swords. The weapons they wore weren’t customized and beautiful like her own, but standard issue short swords - simple but deadly, which was all that mattered in the end, she supposed.

“Lady Morrigan,” The younger one spoke, his tone conveying his surprise, his handsome human features briefly glancing behind her, as if expecting more to arrive with her, but none did. She was lucky she was well known amongst the guards, she supposed, an unexpected perk of being a frequent visitor during her stay with Lucien, Vassa and Jurian further south, in part of Lord Nolan’s previous lands that Tamlin now controlled. When it was apparent that she was alone, he glanced back at her and continued, reminding her of why she was here to begin with, ignoring the lingering guilt that she’d used this as an excuse to run from home. “This is an unexpected visit. May I assist you in something? Are you headed south?”

“It is, I apologize,” she offered smoothly, watching them get more comfortable the longer they stared at her. She supposed, for a human, she was something curious to stare at, even if she never saw what fascinated them so much when she caught her own reflection in a mirror. She looked behind him once more, gesturing and resuming a casual stance since they had relaxed. “Actually, I’m not, I’m here to see Lord Tamlin and Lady Shula, if they’re in. Are they home?”

The two guards exchanged another look and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to hide a smile. They remembered their training, it seemed, the one that had spoken shifting on his feet again, a brief apologetic look flashing across his face. After all, she’d been the one to train Spring’s troops to do this, so she was pleased the lesson stuck. “We can bring you to Ambassador Kristoph, Lady Morrigan, but that is all we are authorized to allow. He would see you in the rose garden on the north side, if that will suffice?”

“Yes,” she commented, gesturing for them to lead on, taking no offense when one of the guards went to stand behind her, the one that had spoken taking the lead. She followed, looking around at all the endless blooms that were slowly taking over the clearing between the High Lord’s estate and the surrounding forest once more. 

“I see the flowers are returning in force,” she commented, trailing her fingers along a patch of hydrangeas that trailed the path they were taking her on. “It’s good to see the land recovering. How are the villages doing?”

Again, they mostly ignored her questions, but the guard behind her spoke up just as they neared the rose garden - Tamlin’s favorite, populated by the few remaining plants his mother had cultivated, brought back to life by Shula’s loving hand and Thesan’s assistance - blooming in wonderous colors all around them. 

“They’re almost back to the way it was before,” the older man muttered, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the pride and hope in his brown eyes. “Here’s to hoping it stays that way, Miss.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, nodding her head and pausing by a stone bench several yards away from the main estate. This was a favorite spot of both Kristoph and the High Lady and she sat down, closing her eyes and raising her head to the sun as the older guard shuffled off towards the estate, his sword scabbard clanging softly against his thigh armor. The younger stood at attention, saying nothing, staring towards the estate. She didn’t have to look to know, she’d trained the previous troops and they in turn had trained these men well, it seemed.

She inwardly sighed at her reaction to seeing Eris, even if she _knew_ a thousand times over that no one would blame her for it. Even now, centuries later, she could still remember in vivid detail when she closed her eyes how the hammer and nail had felt, burying into her lower abdomen and womb. The healers at the time told her she would recover fully, have the chance to have children again if she wanted - but was it wrong she wished they _hadn’t_ succeeded on that front? After what had been done to her, did she really want to bring an innocent into a world like this? Now, with these new enemies afoot, she really didn’t want to envision a child of her own, growing up in a world filled with monsters that wore friendly faces.

“Lady Morrigan!” She heard Kristoph call, opening her eyes and smiling, banishing her awful memories and confused feelings in the back of her mind - to be dealt with at another time, or better yet - not at all. When she looked in the direction she had heard his voice, she froze, going rigid, her smile turning brittle, even as she did her best to remain outwardly calm.

Kristoph was as he always was, an older human male, rather thin, with silver hair tied at the nape of his neck, wrinkles of kindness around his eyes, his court sash pinned to his shoulder as always. What shocked her was who was at his side. 

 _You’re not supposed to be here,_ her thoughts jumbled wildly, as she tried to stand and still appear unflustered, even as she felt like a fraud. 

At his side stood Vassa, her face kind and eyes keenly intelligent, her form and face almost hard to look at due to its beauty. She was one of the rare humans that Morrigan would swear were more lovely than a High Fae, carrying a power in her figure and everything she did - not because of her curse, but because of who she was and the kind of energy she could summon from anyone who followed her. It was easy to see why she had been made a queen in her home countries beyond the sea.

“Queen Vassa is visiting, as you can see. What a lovely coincidence, hm? I hear you’re calling for Lord Tamlin and Lady Shula, yes? Why don’t you join us for tea and I can see if I can summon them with a courier. They’re in the fields today, overseeing a few reccommissions in the nearby villages. It would be at most a few hours before they’re home for supper and we can have the guest room next to Vassa prepared for you.”

Morrigan swallowed thickly, glancing sidelong at Vassa for a millisecond. Had she gotten her letter, the one she hadn’t meant to send where she’d poured her very heart and soul into it? Or had she not received it? Or worse - received it and ignored it completely?

“That would be great,” she finally managed to reply, offering another smile that must have seemed odd on her face, since Kristoph briefly gave her a puzzled look but gestured towards the estate.

Vassa said nothing, staring mutely at her, and Morrigan had a creeping sensation that Vassa knew what she was doing - could see through her fallacy and seemed not in the mood to call her on it. That concept made her nervous, but she couldn’t say anything here, merely following inside as the guards followed behind, hoping Tamlin and Shula were back before her personal problems drowned out why she was here to begin with.

Clearing her mind, she focused sternly, training herself to remember the bigger problem. “When you do write them, please tell them it’s urgent. There’s been a development with the Alchemists and we need to prepare. If you don’t mind, can I borrow one of your offices and some paper and  quill? I need to write our contacts immediately with the news.”

Vassa and Kristoph both blinked, looking over at her with surprise and a hint of concern. Kristoph nodded sharply and gestured for her to hurry alongside him. Keeping her lips sealed, she inwardly flinched when she felt Vassa’s prying stare but said nothing, following Kristoph to where she needed to go. 

“Back to your posts, gentlemen,” Kristoph commented, gesturing for Morrigan to follow him and Queen Vassa once they reached the estate proper, heading through the double doors.

The guards saluted them all, then trotted back to where they’d been posted before, Morrigan watching for a moment as they returned to their area and stood up straighter, the mention of Alchemists most likely making them uneasy and more keen on paying closer attention to their duties. 

Once again, the faint smell of flower pollen and the balmy weather settled over the estate grounds, undisturbed.

* * *

 

**Sicyon, Capital City of the Day Court**

 

The glass table was a mess now, strewn with documents and charcoal rubbings of various kinds as Lucien led him through what he had found. As Helion listened and studied the various notes, drawings and breakdowns of the strange language the Alchemist group had invented that Lucien had mostly worked on himself with some assistance from Amren, he couldn’t help but stare with a subdued mix of pride and wonder at what his son had accomplished. He could see the threads of logic in Lucien’s work, aided by what he hoped was a secretive boon from him, giving him an edge no other would have had - fledgling bursts of what he likely stood to inherit when Helion himself departed this world for another. There was no doubt, he was his heir, that much was obvious with how far Lucien had come in deciphering the Alchemy language.

 _I have to tell him at some point,_ he thought, staring again at Lucien as he motioned to a particular parchment that had been taken from a cell wall in the Prison Rhysand’s court controlled. It housed beasts that made even a High Lord of Helion’s power shudder, thankful such a place wasn’t within his own jurisdiction, but now knowing what it brewed there - from Amren, who luckily turned out to be an ally instead of a formidable enemy, to the Bone Carver and now the key to the Alchemist’s rise to power, he was beginning to wonder if more measures should be taken with these creatures. Was housing them all in that one singular place wise?

Lucien kept talking - distracting Helion from his thoughts as he peered between his son and the work he’d been doing for months - appearing oblivious to his stares or being too kind to point out Helion’s repeated rudeness, his eyes remaining firmly on the paper between them. Again, despite being desperate to tell the younger male of his heritage and his link to this court - one he hoped Lucien would accept as his home at some point in the future and begin to study underneath him, preparing himself for what was obvious to come to pass, his ascension - he kept his mouth shut, letting his son continue to focus on what was critically important for Prythian as a whole. It eased some tension in him, he realized, knowing his son was a key component to solving this latest nemesis. He trusted Lucien, even before he’d known he was his son, but now it calmed him. 

“As you can see, whomever did this, _merged_ different types of language into a whole new one. They took…” Lucien leaned back, rifling through a few more loose parchments, casting them down on the table from a wooden spelled crate Helion had the guards bring from Lucien’s rooms at the Inn at the edge of the court by the monolithic libraries - something he would have changed soon enough - pointing to a few and shaking his head in wonder, “...they managed to merge ideographic language with logographic and segmental emphasis.”

Lucien looked up, shaking his head in brief embarrassment when Helion said nothing. Clearly, this was a subject Lucien had immersed himself in. Helion knew a little about different writing systems, but had never seen them merged like this, something Lucien was able to pinpoint and talk about with ease, but he was catching on the more Lucien talked. He motioned for him to continue, telling Lucien he was proud and impressed with his detailed findings rather than finding it odd. 

Lucien took it as a sign to continue, losing some of the visible tension stiffening his shoulders. “It means the Alchemists have made a language that’s multipurposed. You can draw it - like what was done to Shula and the Illyrian soldiers, or sing it...or write it with runes or ideograms and the magic _changes_ with it. All of this is just from the Prison, too!”

For the briefest moment, Lucien appeared energetic, almost excited. Helion found himself also stunned - this way of doing magic was completely unheard of. “This doesn’t even account for them recently adding in Leshon Hakodesh,” Lucien went on, shaking his head and tugging on a parchment that was half-buried under countless others, motioning to areas where it was obviously influenced by the Book of Breathings, no doubt thanks to the Mortal Queens before Hybern and Rhysand began searching for their half. “That particular magical language is meant to be on par with Cauldron magic, so you can only imagine the power that added to the already significant pull this language had. Simply put...it’s better than _anything_ we can wield, even a High Lord, if the person studying this knows how to work it correctly.”

That stunned Helion into complete silence, the only sound lingering in the room as Lucien raised his head, staring at him with a sudden seriousness, being the popping of the lingering fire in the grate by the fireplace. Recovering quickly, his mind still reeling, Helion looked down at the texts with new concern. “Are you sure? Have you tested this theory? Is there a way to nullify its considerable power? There has to be a way to stop this. That’s...preposterous.”

 _Was it really, though?_ His mind immediately conjured. Their species had done considerable damage to humans over the years, seeing them as inferior and therefore somehow lesser than themselves. Despite being angry at the Mortal Queens for siding with such a creature or faction, he realized their ancestors were the real ones to blame here, having treated them in such a way for generations that the only defense against their kind was getting into bed with something far worse, but far more powerful than a Fae.

Lucien had gone completely quiet, making Helion look up, waiting for his answer. The oddly skittish look in his good eye made Helion rear back in surprise, a sharp bark of shock rippling from his mouth. _He’s even more keen than you previously thought._ When Lucien continued to say nothing, Helion leaned back in his seat, grinning faintly and sipping on his drink. “You _have,_ haven’t you? Tested this theory, I mean? _”_

With that statement, Lucien’s golden skin briefly paled, but he nodded faintly. “Nothing dangerous,” Lucien immediately blurted after he admitted he had tested the Alchemy language out himself, “and nothing I couldn’t undo with the right words.”

Helion studied his son, watching him fidget under his powerful gaze, impressed Lucien could handle his intense scrutiny but also worried about what he was doing. He wasn’t _mad_ , per say - it’s exactly what he would’ve done, given his own power to nullify, but without Lucien being able to wield such a gift just yet, this was dangerous territory. He wanted to ask what exactly Lucien had done to test such an idea, but he was almost afraid to ask. Lucien glanced up sharply, catching onto Helion’s harsh stare, worry for his only heir riding his thoughts and coloring his expression, frowning with anger and embarrassment, but Helion continued, trying to ease Lucien’s stiffness by softening his tone but still emphasizing what he was doing was dangerous. “Anything further, please involve me. In fact, going forward, I want to be involved every step of the way as a partner in your research. I can nullify the magic if I understand it. If I don’t, I can’t, and that is a risk we cannot take. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucien murmured, lowering his eyes and looking back at the more rudimentary etchings taken from the Prison. He allowed the moment to pass, letting Lucien swallow his pride and understand that Helion hadn’t meant to insult him, merely warn him that if he delved further into this line of thinking, he would need the Spell Cleaver at his side in order to do so. 

Helion saw his gaze and pointed to them. “Any luck figuring out how... _whatever_ this thing is...got out of the Prison? Clearly, it’s old and smart...patient. A good combination in an ally, but a terrible one in an enemy. Those wards are powerful and attuned to the High Lord of Night. The fact he got out without a High Lord noticing is...worrisome.”

“I think it did something similar to Amren, but on a less successful level,” Lucien murmured, tapping at a few key areas of the parchment. “It used these areas here...that look like cuniform, and…” Lucien glanced up, flushing, realizing he probably sounded wildly obsessed but Helion gestured for him to continue, surprised at how well Lucien seemed to absorb all this, “..lured his victims in. They would hear a whisper, some kind of….darkness...that called to them. I don’t know the selection process, but my guess? It lured an Illyrian, lesser Fae, maybe even a human and when they were close enough, it merged its consciousness with the host’s. Obviously, the less powerful of the two would lose such a confrontation and the creature…”

“...gets a free ticket out of the Prison,” Helion muttered, horrified at what Lucien was describing, wiping a hand over his face as he looked at the text Lucien rested his fingers against - the etches from the Prison that had only been improved on, merged with the linguistics from the Book of Breathings and made even more powerful. _By the Cauldron, this is bad. Fuck._

“There is _some_ good news, though,” Lucien remarked, making Helion pause and look up. “Whomever wrote this...made this...is powerful. Maybe as powerful as the Old Gods, or stronger. Whatever they targeted as a host wouldn’t have been able to hold them long. Their bodies wouldn’t have been able to contain that kind of power. So, my guess is…”

Helion sat up, surprise flickering through his body as he smiled, catching on to what his son was saying. “It needs a new host fairly often,” he added, watching Lucien nod. He thought this over, looking between the parchments Lucien had scattered between them, keeping the train of thought going. “What happens if it can’t find one?”

Lucien shrugged, looking over the documents. “That...I don’t know, but I assume it would be bad. Whatever this creature is, it needs an anchor. Why? I’m not sure, but if it’s similar to the Old Gods, then it’s not originally from this world and may need a form to stay here.”

Helion grinned, nodding slowly, glancing over the parchments one last time before stretching faintly. “Then let’s find out. This may be the only chance we have of beating this thing. First, however, how about some lunch? And no more staying at the Inn, you will move to the court. I will have a guest suite prepared for you.”

Lucien smiled, a brief glimmer of surprise that Helion himself was joining in Lucien’s study of the Alchemy language, and perhaps a pinch of discomfort, but Helion brushed that off, determined to have his son close by and able to aid him in continuing to learn the Alchemy text with a safety measure of his own powers at his disposal. Not only would such a proposition allow him to see his son’s intelligence at work, but perhaps grow their bond into a friendship that would allow him to be the father figure Lucien so desperately needed in his life, while working to save Prythian as a whole against its latest threat.

Calling out to a guard, he spoke quickly once one arrived. “Coffee, tea, snacks, anything Lucien requires...bring them to us. Tell my chancellor to cover the council meetings today, we do not want to be disturbed. Prepare the golden rooms in my wing, he will be staying here for the foreseeable future as well.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the guard murmured, closing the door behind them. He gestured for Lucien to start them off and bring him up to speed. Lucien smiled, shaking his head slightly, then did as Helion asked.


	18. Chapter 18

**The Past, Illyrian War Training Camp near Mount Ramiel**

 

The attack had come out of nowhere, despite the fact that it had been brewing for days. He had expected it at night, not during the day, just a few short hours after practice. Those hours were usually safe and his own, where he would hunt in the woods with his newfound skills and sometimes the assistance of his friends, the shadows, so he could eat whatever small prey he captured and hunker down for the night with a full belly to prepare for the next long day. He’d been mostly successful in teaching himself to fly, just a few days ago he had learned to hold his weight in the air and glide, something he hadn’t been able to do until recently. 

He was improving, growing stronger, becoming the warrior he wanted to be.

It was because of his hunting hours for supper that he didn’t notice the attack at first, the shadows dismissed at the time, intent on finding his dinner without their help. He was growing more eager to try his skills on his own merit and hadn’t noticed the stillness in the surrounding wildlife - no birds chirping, no insect humming - when the attack and the explosion of laughter and taunting took him by surprise, allowing his two nemesis to get the jump on him. From there, things had escalated until he was panicking, having all too familiar flashbacks to the nightmare of his young childhood behind closed eyelids. By the time he forced them back to the recesses of his mind and focused, the fight had grown chaotic and vengeful. 

The cheering from the circle of boys standing around him blurred with each punch, until it was a roar of chaos that sounded like the blended screams of banshees. His vision waned when one punch was particularly well-aimed, slamming up against his temple and sending him staggering in the snow. The voices grew louder, peppered with laughter, until all he wanted to do was scream. _Is this what being one of us is like? Are we all so cruel? Is this what makes our fathers proud?_

“Told you he ain’t nothin’ to beat,” hissed a familiar voice, one he had grown to hate in his short time at the training camp. _Cassian._ “Take his left flank, that’ll bring him down!” Immediately after, he felt a sharp stabbing pain in the tender flesh of his side, just below his ribs, on the other side of where Cassian’s taunting voice shouted. _Rhysand._  

“Fuck off!” He shouted back, trying to raise his fists and drop the fledgling bow and arrow he’d made for catching his dinner, studying the way the items were made during training. Cassian’s grunt, followed by the sound of wood snapping, made his skin prickle with anger and despair. _They ruined my bow! How will I catch my dinner now?_

“Right there, yeah! Hit him again!” Cassian cheered, just as Rhysand struck again, making Azriel wince and stumble. He opened his eyes, watching as the brawny boy opened his wings to gain enough momentum to clobber his face one last time, bringing his fist up just as his feet separated from the snowy forest floor, clearly intending to punch him into a black nothingness where he’d be his most vulnerable. There was no telling what would happen after - his father and brothers had taught him that - all he knew was that it couldn’t happen, not here, not in front of the other boys who were standing around them, watching the fight.

Snarling, he closed his eyes and finally - for the first time in weeks - asked them for their help. _Tell me when and where. I don’t want to cripple him, just cause him enough pain I can take on Rhysand and escape back to my sleeping pad._

Just as he asked, the shadows clinging to the trees around the three boys darkened and took shape. Azriel watched as a few slithered towards him, not noticed by the others surrounding them all, smiling faintly when a few curled around his wrists and wrapped around his neck. The other boys had come to watch the fight, it seemed, laughing and bantering with each other in a rough circle several yards back, making Azriel furious at the sight of their twisted sense of entertainment. 

Azriel wondered, as he balled his fist and waited, ignoring the pummeling pain of Rhysand hammering his sides, tenderizing the soft spots along his kidneys, if the other two fighting him realized the others pushed them into these fights because they were all equally hated. None of these boys were their friends and fighting wouldn’t gain them new ones. They were outcasts, moored on the edges of the popular crowd, and this was not a fight to prove superiority, but how easily goaded the three of them could be for cruel amusement, nothing else.

Cassian - because he was all brawn and no brains and apparent ‘gutter trash,’ whatever that meant. Rhsyand - because he was the High Lord’s son, something Azriel had only recently learned, which made him more a target than his fine clothes and well-fed frame, because no matter how poorly he did in training, everyone knew he would soon rise to be more than anyone else in that camp just because of his bloodline, and then himself - barely considered a sentient creature, all skin and bones and an easy target, one everyone was sure wouldn’t make it through training. 

 _Now, swing_ **_now_ ** _,_ the shadows suddenly burst forth with, interrupting his thoughts, _go right and swing hard, then turn and tuck your wings close and you can take down the other, too._ He did as they asked, keeping his eyes closed, feeling the shadows sink into the skin by his neck, his fists, feet and wings, and followed through. As always, they were right. He felt his fists slam into Casian’s wings, listening as the bigger boy cried out in pain and slumped down, then tucked his wings in tight, turning and slamming into Rhysand’s middle. The boy’s closely followed grunt of pain gave Azriel all the motivation he needed to push - _hard -_ and send Rhysand sprawling in the snow. Opening his eyes, snarling down at the boy he now straddled, he let his fists fly, hammering over and over into Rhysand’s face. Shock was witnessed first, then rage at being bested, then finally pain when it registered to the young Lord that Azriel had gotten the better of him and was, in fact, causing harm.

 _See how it feels!_ He screamed inside of his head, watching blood sprout and gush down Rhysand’s face, from his nose and a scratch his fingernails had caused above his left eyebrow. Rhysand tried to dodge the blows, failing, and before Azriel was satisfied, the shadows thickened again around his wrist and hissed a warning in his ear. _Duck, to your left, move_ **_quickly_ ** _and you can do the same to the other boy._

Once more, their advice proved fruitful and he barely managed to dodge Cassian’s tackle, hearing his roar of rage against his ear just as he ducked out of reach. He turned, slamming into Cassian and climbing off Rhysand, ignoring the tender aching in his knuckles as he rammed his fists down, into the boy’s face. Soon, Cassian’s face was as bloody as Rhysand’s - like his had been for a while now, both boys getting the advantage over him before he’d called to the shadows for help, and he couldn’t help but feel vindication and a growing sickness inside himself as he kept going, hurting Cassian more and more - and Rhysand, too, when he once more joined in the fight.

 _This is what I asked them to do, isn’t it?_ He thought, raging against the two of them, his own breathing ragged, punctuated by grunts and cries as his fighting got sloppier the more tired he became, thinking of what had happened the last night he’d been home, when his father and brothers had come after him. _It really_ **_is_ ** _me that does this, isn’t it? The shadows aren’t monsters, it’s me - it was_ **_always me._ **He still couldn’t remember what exactly had happened that fateful night and hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask the shadows yet, but seeing the bloodied faces of his two opponents, he sickly began to wonder if it had been just like this - or worse. 

He was so embroiled in his own turmoil, he missed the warning the shadows sent him. _Watch out! Behind you!_ Suddenly, his shoulder was crushed by a grip so strong, he couldn’t do anything but cry out and go limp as it ripped him away from the other two. He watched for a split second as darkness - filled with starlight unlike his own pitch black - burst into the air with a crackling boom, followed by a large masculine leg that kicked Cassian away and then and tumbled Rhysand back a few steps before he was flung back into the snow so hard, he lost his breath and struggled to suck in air, the very force of the throw jarring his spine and twisting one of his wings painfully beneath his back.

“ _What in the Cauldron is going on?_ ” An unfamiliar male snarled, looking down at Azriel with a shockingly cruel gaze. He’d never seen eyes like that in his entire life - not even his father’s were as terrifying - finding himself frozen with fear pinned beneath that stare, unable to find words to answer the male’s question, his vocal chords numb with panic. Whatever he was, he was powerful. The male had pitch black hair and no wings, his skin pale and chiseled as marble, power radiating from his every pore, frightening Azriel into complete stillness the longer the male stared, tilting his head inquiringly down at Azriel. “And just what are _you,_ boy?”

Azriel forced the whimper that threatened to break free down to the back of his throat, determined to show subservience but knowing on some instinctive level that showing fear would be a mistake. He swallowed, still meeting the man’s cruel eyes, ordering for the shadows to _go,_ nervous to have them lingering under this male’s stare. They dissolved into his skin under the dim light of the strange starlight the male cast around the area, despite it being mid-day, but Azriel felt a trickling sense of dread at the base of his spine congeal as the male’s eyes went sharp just as the shadows dispersed. Surely he couldn’t _sense_ them….could he?

“Father, I can explain,” Azriel heard Rhysand say from a few feet away. Surprise flickered in the back of his mind as he stared up at the strange male, picking up on the slight way Rhysand’s voice wavered, still sprawled in the churned snow at his feet. _This is the High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand is afraid of him, at least he sounds to be. Is he anything like my father?_  He suddenly felt remorseful for attacking Rhysand and not befriending him. He knew all too well what a cruel father could be like.

The moment Rhysand spoke, his father turned his full attention Rhysand’s way, allowing Azriel to relax by a small degree, letting out a faint breath of relief, but still too nervous to move from where he lay sprawled in the snow. He shivered, forcing down his trembling to something negligible, determined not to draw the male’s gaze again, finally allowing himself to take measure of what had brought the High Lord here. As he tore his gaze around the small clearing  surrounding the pine forest, he noticed the boys that usually encouraged the fighting had fled, seemingly nowhere in sight, making Azriel wonder how long he’d been distracted and failing to notice Rhysand’s father approaching. Anger churned in his gut, wondering again why Rhysand and Cassian always seemed so prone to attack him, when it was the rest of their training camp that was mostly to blame. 

“Yes,” Murmured Rhysand’s father, drawing Azriel back to the present situation, curling into a small ball in the snow as soon as the male began moving towards his son. “Yes, you will.” Azriel caught Rhysand’s flinch out of the corner of his eye, making the already brewing remorse he had started to feel thicken in his gut, watching as his father reached down, gripping Rhysand’s shoulder tightly, only to disappear in a cloud of stardust a mere second later, leaving Cassian and himself sitting in the snow, blinking in surprise at their sudden departure.

Hearing a feminine sigh, Azriel tensed, glancing over his shoulder, seeing the well-dressed female he’d seen accompany Rhsyand to training a few times, standing back to observe. She was beautiful and, oddly, her wings were intact. Azriel couldn’t stop staring at them.

“Come with me, both of you,” she murmured, the soft tone of her voice hard to read. Azriel glanced Cassian’s way, seeing the same flicker of unease in the hated boy’s eyes, but the female motioned again for them both. Considering she was Rhysand’s mother - she was too well dressed to be a servant - it made sense she was the Lady of the Night Court, and he couldn’t disobey. 

Standing on shaking limbs and brushing snow off his chest, both him and Cassian did as she said, following her towards a cabin in the forest.

 

* * *

 

**Tamlin’s Estate, Spring Lands**

Morrigan’s nerves were strung so tight, when a server opened the door from the kitchens, bringing forth a silver try that carried the food they were to eat into the large and mostly empty dining area, the sound of the door creaking on its hinges made her jump slightly. Luckily no one seemed to notice her unease, or at least if they did, they didn’t call her out on it. Tamlin and Shula sat side by side further down the long table, Kristoph and Vassa situated in the middle, serving as a buffer between herself and the High Lord and High Lady of Spring. She had just joined them after sending quick word to Azriel at Fort Galle, hoping she’d reached him in time before he had departed. Unfortunately, once he was on mortal soil, it was too dangerous to send word, and Tamlin and Shula had already advised her that they’d departed earlier than expected, having already set off for Fort Galle the evening prior. Morrigan remembered Rhysand commenting that Astra had a way to track one of their leaders, but the thought also sent a sense of foreboding throughout her body. What if she was sensing that entity that had escaped the Prison or Bryaxis? What would happen if they encountered either - or _both_ \- completely unawares of what they were walking into? _Please still be on Prythian land. Please..._

Shula sat silently, gently cradling a young swaddled newborn against her bosom, staring between her and Tamlin as she frowned and noticeably tried not to shudder. She hadn’t been part of her and Tamlin’s initial briefing, but Morrigan had been forced to bring her up to speed at the dining table, seeing as Tamlin had wanted her to co-rule with him, much like Feyre and Rhysand. “So, those dark magicians are working with something from a Fae prison.” Morrigan nodded, not able to stomach food when she confirmed the female’s comment, just idly pushing her food about her plate as she watched Shula wrestle with that news against her memories of what had occurred to her when she had been captured by one of the Alchemists at the wishes of Beron.

Shula sighed faintly, shaking her head and stroking the edge of her son’s face, a full tremble shaking her shoulders before she regained her composure just as Tamlin’s hand came to rest on her shoulder in concern. “It makes sense, I suppose, in an odd sort of way. Those symbols they painted on me felt...oddly powerful. Too powerful for a human mind to conjure up, no less. Not that I mean to talk ill of my former people,” she murmured, glancing towards Vassa, who shrugged off the comment from where Morrigan could tell out of the  corner of her eye, watching as Shula continued with a troubling frown. “We never knew magic that well, at least from what I can remember during my time there as a servant. Hell, until the war with Hybern, I hadn’t even known the queens possessed any magic at all. Things have changed a lot since I was human, it seems.”

Morrigan  didn’t know what to say about that, remembering a time when humans were treated so badly by some Fae, they’d have done anything to free themselves of their masters, including take up a form of the dark arts. Sighing herself, she leaned forward and grabbed the stem of her glass, taking a deep swallow of wine. If she couldn’t eat, she could certainly drink tonight - within reason, of course. She felt Vassa’s eyes on her, hating to ignore the woman’s stare but doing her best to focus on Tamlin and Shula’s questions - facing the problem at hand- and chose to not acknowledge her look, afraid she’d focus too much on her own personal feelings when it came to the exiled beautiful human. “Unfortunately, all evidence points to an escaped prisoner, and since the symbols seem to be a precursory language to what was used in Night and on yourself...we can only assume so. Rhysand is going to be calling a High Lord Summit within the next day or so to share what else he may have learned since I left. Since I missed Azriel, we just have to hope my message reaches him at Fort Galle and I will retain myself there, preparing the border legions with extra care. In any event, we need to prepare for the worst.”

“Anything you need, we will do our best to provide, just send word,” murmured Tamlin, his eyes kept firmly on Shula and their newborn son in his mate’s arms. She was thankful for his words, even if she wondered at their sincerity where she was concerned, considering not long ago they were once enemies, but knew he was offering this olive branch - burying years of mistrust and hatred - to make sure his mate and child were kept safe.

She couldn’t help but think of Azriel again, wondering how he and the Illyrian female he’d taken with him were doing. She pondered over the words she sent, hoping they were enough.

_Azriel,_

_Please be careful. A prisoner is missing and so is Bryaxis. He broke free of his bond with Feyre. We’re not sure what this means other than the Alchemists may have unfathomably powerful allies on their side. Please be safe._

Sighing worriedly and sipping on her glass, the conversations at the lone dining table in the large room growing quiet, a somberness lulling over all the occupants as the news of what she had brought to Spring sank in, she noticed a shift out of the corner of her eye and looked up, blinking in surprise at seeing Vassa standing by her side, red hair gleaming in the lamplight of the dining room. She wore crimson, favoring the color of her hair and the paleness of her skin, gesturing towards the doors that led to the hallway beyond. When Morrigan spared a quick glance towards the others, she noted Shula and Tamlin in deep conversation about the upcoming High Lord Summit. If they left, they’d hardly be noticed. Once more, her nerves frayed - taught and trembling - feeling her stomach bottom out as she remembered _which_ of the two letters Vassa had received. One had been professional and to the point, thanking her for her hospitality while she’d previously trained Spring soldiers as Spring restructured, recovering from the war with Hybern, and the other was about how she couldn’t sleep at night for all that she thought of the woman. She’d meant to mail the first - yet hadn’t. Staring at Vassa, she couldn’t tell what the woman was thinking.

“Can we talk?” Vassa asked, tilting her head to the side. Morrigan swallowed down the last of her wine, setting her glass aside, forcing herself to keep her expression schooled like Vassa was so expertly doing on her own. What was she supposed to say to that? _I’m sorry I sent the wrong note, even if I meant every word? You scare me but I’m tired of living a lie? I dream of kissing you?_

Knowing she had to eventually face her mistake, she nodded, rising from her seat and following the woman out of the room.

 

* * *

 

**Carthage, Port City on the Outskirts of Ephesus, The Mortal Lands**

_Wherever she was, it was dark, damp, and claustrophobic, carrying with it the scent of wet rock and limestone. She was sweating, trying to smother her ragged breathing even as she reached up to wipe rivulets of stinging salt out of her eyes as she ran - not because she could see, but because it burned and she needed all her senses. Something was wrong and she was afraid, even if she couldn’t understand why just yet._

_Echoing out from behind her, she could hear laughter, then her own name being called out, pronouncing her name in the same sing-song voice they used as children as it followed pursuit, closer than she’d like. Despite the familiarity of that voice - her brother, her protector, the one person she could always count on besides mother - something sinister carried along with it, making her footsteps spur faster and faster, her run escalating into a sheer will of desire to_ **_get away_ ** _._

_Again, that voice echoed out, mimicking the way it used to when they played amongst the war camp they had called home all their childhood - when she would do her best to duck and cover and he would chase her and tag her, switching places until it was time to go home for the evening meal - slowly closing the distance between her and the owner of that voice, no matter how hard she tried to run. Unlike those times, though, his voice continued to grow more and more ominous as it echoed off the  caves -- she was in a cave! Please let this tunnel not be a dead end! -- rather than mirthful. It was that ominous change in her brother’s voice that had goaded her to run in the first place._

_Something was wrong. This wasn’t a fun game of hide and seek, this was a hunt - and she was the prey._

_Suddenly, she felt the air move in front of her. She still couldn’t see anything - the air so dark it was pitch black - but she could feel his presence like an entity, and then he was_ **_there_ ** _, reaching out, grabbing her by the shoulder, his nails prying on her skin until they tore through the barrier of her flesh, gauging painful wounds into her shoulders._

_“Got you,” he sneered, his voice promising a violence that made her shudder and want to scream, but she couldn’t seem to find her voice, stunned speechless that her loving brother was capable of such a sound, when she saw the flash of a knife. She wasn’t sure how - since there was no light in his place - but it was unmistakable in his hand, making her paralyzed voice roar to life, her scream echoing off the surrounding stone. Suddenly, her skin burned and she looked down, noting symbols painted into her skin. They glowed, caught in the glinting metal of the knife, burning her skin as they became brighter and brighter. She didn’t know what they were, but they felt bad - wrong and vile, rotting at something inside her that she couldn’t pinpoint but knew was precious._

_She tried wrenching away as he used his free hand to raise the knife --  no, it was a sword! Her sword? The one he’d made her or another? -- and he laughed, his eyes beginning to glow the same as the symbols. She could see his face, reflected in the blade. She stared, horrified, not recognizing the face that stared back, his features distorted - dark and swollen with corrupt power - as he raised the sword overhead between them. Yes, it was her brother’s face, but he was something else now - something evil._

_Once again, she tried getting away, tried to scrub at the symbols - smear them, remove them, anything in an effort to get them off her, but it was no use - and he laughed again, simply tightening his hold. He was too strong, she realized, unnaturally strong. Suddenly, the glow cut out, and she was entirely in the dark once more. It almost felt like the shadows in the cave had rushed forward, suffocating her. She choked, unable to breathe, trying once more to scream, but she couldn’t. She was_ **_trapped._ **

_Without warning, the blade came arching down,_ **_down_ ** _\- and the pain that blossomed from her chest was unlike anything she’d ever felt. She screamed a silent cry of agony,_ **_dying_ ** _, tasting her own blood in the back of her throat, and something_ **_else_ ** _\- some kind of darkness that reached inside her mouth, coating her soul in its essence, in the shapes of those symbols. Suddenly, she was gone; she was_ **_nothing_ ** _and she_ **_felt nothing_ ** _and --_

**_*****_ **

“Astra!” 

She jolted awake, choking back the gorge that rose in the back of her throat, hearing herself screaming like a broken, cornered animal, a warm calloused hand gently shaking her shoulders then cupping her cheeks.

“Cauldon’s sake, let me get you some water,” Azriel murmured - the same sweet voice that had woken her from that nightmare, the one she had constantly, just never had in his presence before - cradling her to his body when she shook her head rapidly and burrowed into his chest, shuddering as the shadows clinged to them both. Azriel seemed to sense her unease with them, raising a hand, where they dissolved away, backing towards the walls and the doors, barring the outside world from their small haven while she tried to capture her breath. 

“Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong or what I can do,” Azriel murmured softly, once the worst of her sobbing passed, cupping her cheeks strongly when she tightened her arms around his torso, where she was plastered against his side, shrugging off his hands on her face, burrowing further against his chest. He sighed, dropping them and tugging her close once more. Her eyes stung from the amount of tears she must have cried, his image blurring as he twisted in the bed, holding her close, their wings still half-masked under glamor, pulled close to their backs.

“It was just a dream….just a dream…” She chanted softly under her breath, listening to the staccato thrum of his heartbeat underneath her ear, using it to calm herself.

Finally, she was relaxed and awake enough to focus on pushing the dream aside. Azriel held her, brushing a kiss against her temple and waiting patiently for her to speak. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing for the time being. She glanced down, bringing her forearm into her line of sight, realizing the marking was gone. Bryaxis was hunting, it seemed. She frowned, not hearing him in the bond, but wondering all the same - _had he been blocking them from her sleep?_ He had mostly been staying put beneath her skin and since her binding to Bryaxis, she hadn’t had a single nightmare until tonight. She wasn’t sure if she should thank him or feel worried she would be a weak partner for Azriel the closer they got to Ephesus. At least she was no longer crying, able to draw shuddered breaths through her lungs.

“Want to talk about it?” He finally murmured once more, pulling back enough to cant his head and look down into her face. Concern flashed in his eyes as he frowned, making a faint smile tug at her mouth. The stone-faced Spymaster was a portrait of visible worry, soothing her embarrassment and lingering fear. Here was a man to whom legions could never tell what he was thinking on any given day, wearing the face of a concerned mate openly. She sighed, rolling into her back, tucking her wings close and staring up at the ceiling, feeling him move closer and drape an arm across her stomach, fingers gently circling the outline of her hips.

“I was back in the caves,” she responded, studying the pattern of exposed wooden beams that made up the ceiling. He went still, barely breathing, and she sensed his long-buried anger and sorrow at what her words dredged up echoed down the bond, reaching down and clasping his hand, squeezing it gently. “It wasn’t like that night, not at first. We were playing a game like we did as kids, only he…” She swallowed, glancing his way. “He turned into what he was in the end, painting those symbols on, and...killed me.”

She looked down at her body, naked and twisted in the sheets, taking her fingertips and drawing a few of the symbols out on her golden skin, still feeling them there all these months later, despite there being no outward indication they were ever there to begin with. They felt etched into her soul, like they had in the dream, changing her from the inside out. “I felt the symbols, and when he stabbed me, they just... _changed_ me. I felt nothing after, but I was aware that it was nothing, it felt like…” She shuddered and he growled faintly in the back of his throat, tugging her close once more. She didn’t object, burrowing against his chest once more.

For the longest time, they said nothing, just clinging to each other, the only noise filling the room being the soft pop and crackle of the dying fire. “I think that’s why I can talk to the shadows now,” she admitted, whispering against his chest and closing her eyes, inhaling his scent. “I never could before, but ever since that night...when Nesta brought me back...I’ve been able to. At first, I was scared, but now...they’re kind of a comfort, in a way. I wonder what that means, though. When did you first talk to shadows?”

“For as long as I can remember, ever since I was a child,” Azriel murmured back, reaching up and running a hand through her hair. She frowned, opening her eyes and blinking at that news, tilting her head back and looking up into his face.

“What do you mean?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. He shrugged, the worry still lingering in his eyes, but most of his expression morphing back into the Spymaster she knew. She nudged him with a shoulder and he smiled faintly, pressing a kiss against her lips. 

“I mean exactly that. I don’t remember a part of my life without them,” he replied, his dark eyes shuttering a moment as they went distant, as if focused on a memory. “I didn’t have the best life as a child, Astra. My mother was not the legitimate wife of the War Chief. I was kept...out of the way. The shadows helped keep me alive. Without them, I probably wouldn’t have survived until adulthood.”

Astra went completely still, her eyes widening, as Azriel’s words sunk in. She remembered, from what Nesta had told her, that Stian bore the worst of her father’s bad traits, including beatings. To think Azriel had endured the same - or worse - made her shudder but thankful he was strong enough to overcome his past. She snuggled closer, letting her empathy flow through the bond, feeling him relax against her. “What happened to him? Your father?”

It took Azriel a while to respond, his side of the bond growing quiet. “I killed him,” Azriel finally commented, making Astra balk, eyes going wide once more. Unlike how mad her brother had felt in his final hours, all she could sense from Azriel in that moment was sadness and despair. There was a lot to this story, she could tell, but Azriel was not her brother. Before she could open her mouth and reply, the shadows skirted away from the window and Bryaxis came pouring in like dark oil, taking shape and growling, the shadows peeling away enough from his face to show flaring golden eyes, sparking with anger. 

**_He’s moving again!_ **

Astra and Azriel bolted up in bed, hastily grabbing for their clothes. _What? When?_ They both shouted towards him, their words tripping over each other in the bond. Bryaxis growled, shaking his head, watching them with flat disinterest as they both scurried into their gear. **_I don’t know, his wards are tricky. We need to head to Ephesus NOW. Maybe we can catch him._ **

Astra paused as she tightened up her bracers and gorget, glancing between him and Azriel. _Do you think what Rendon told us is true? Jurian was aided and escaped?_ She swung her eyes towards Bryaxis. _Any news on that front?_

 **_He’s gone, that much I know._ ** When she wondered how he knew, his answering grin made her shudder and hold up a hand. _So why head to Ephesus, then? If your brother is moving and Jurian is gone already?_

**_Because I know they broke his mind and your mate isn’t about to let us follow my brother until we know what information has been exposed. Besides, he’s been one step ahead all along. I’ve been studying his little experiments...this language, as you call it...and I may have a way to break down their defenses and see if we can’t do our own espionage. Knowledge is corruptible, after all._ **

Astra glanced over at Azriel, watching him nod, his usual stoic expression back in place. She shelved what they were talking about for later - once they were bedding down for the night in a safe, secure place - but nodded, holding up her arm as Bryaxis began to shrink. 

He hesitated before dissolving into her bracer. **_There is one issue if we proceed._ ** Astra and Azriel shared a look, glancing back his way. **_If we proceed further, we will be on our own. We won’t be able to risk exposure and cannot communicate back home._ **

Azriel smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He glanced her way and she shrugged, smiling faintly his way. “We’re in this until the end,” she agreed, echoing his statement.

Bryaxis chuckled down the bond, then weaved himself into his familiar pattern on her forearm. **_Then let’s go. The sooner we get there, the better chance we have of learning their plans._ **


	19. Chapter 19

**The Past, Illyrian War Training Camp near Mount Ramiel**

Azriel didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, following behind Rhysand’s mother and Cassian as they headed towards the cabin he sometimes saw Rhysand enter with his mother when he was out on hunts with his makeshift bow. As if in answer to his predicament about his bow now being destroyed, his stomach grumbled loudly in the silent space between him and the Lady of the Night Court. Cassian was too far ahead of them to hear the noise, but it was humiliating all the same and he flushed with embarrassment, tearing his eyes away from where he saw her turn to look at him with a sympathetic frown. He knew that look, it was one of pity, and while he would easily label himself a pitiful creature, it felt especially insufferable looking like one in front of someone so important.

“When we are inside, head to the kitchen,” She said, keeping her voice quiet enough it didn’t carry to their other companion, but he hung his head all the same, letting the ends of his hair that had grown too long drape over his face to hide his shame. “You’re hungry and there’s nothing wrong with needing food. What is your name?”

Azriel said nothing to her comment about feeding him, surprised at the kindness and the sweet tone of her voice. Unlike the High Lord, her words didn’t carry stigma or judgement, just plain good will. He would have to answer her regardless, just because of who she was to everyone in Illyria and the respect she required, but he surprised himself by volunteering it without bitterness, somehow sensing she was exactly as she appeared -a selfless, caring woman, regardless of her title.

“It’s Azriel, my Lady,” he murmured, keeping his eyes lowered, only glancing up briefly in confusion when he felt her steps stutter, like she’d briefly froze at the uttering of his name, losing her footing. Before he could ask her if she was alright, she turned and reached for his chin, tipping his head back to stare up at her, brushing his hair away from his face. He balked but didn’t draw back from the touch, despite flinching. No one touched him, not without ill intent, so he didn’t quite know how to respond, standing there numbly, distinctly uncomfortable as she stared at him with an intensity that unnerved him.

“You said... _Azriel?_ Your name is...Azriel?” She whispered, her eyes searching his face. He swallowed, fidgeting under her direct gaze, barely able to nod his head under her gentle grip on his chin without wrenching it loose, not wanting to offend her. He didn’t know if Cassian had stopped and noticed the sudden odd behavior of Lady Night and felt himself grow more uncomfortable the longer she seemed to stare at his face. Something akin to sadness flickered over her features, making his heartbeat pick up speed, but soon it was gone and she was letting go of his chin to lean down and take his hand.

“Cassian,” she called over her shoulder, still facing him, and it was hearing the other boy’s name that tore his eyes away from her stare - _was it one of pity? What did she want with him? What was so interesting about his name?_ \- glancing over and watching as Cassian, now several feet ahead of them, turned and glanced back, surprised to see Lady Night standing with Azriel’s hand in hers. “Gather a spare set of clothes from Rhysand’s room, he is more Azriel’s size, and bring them to me in the kitchen. I will set something out for you both for dinner. After, I expect you to prepare the spare bedroll for Azriel to bunk with you going forward.”

Azriel blinked, seeing the flash of a scowl twisting Cassian’s expression before the boy schooled his face, nodding faintly and turning away, walking towards the cabin he could see in the distance that Rhysand shared with his mother and the occasional Illyrian guard outside the door. As he witnessed the other boy walking away, it struck him - Lady Night addressed Cassian like she knew him, like she had been sheltering him with her and Rhysand in their cabin. 

Suddenly, all-consuming jealousy swelled within him at the thought, bitterness so black and bile he had to clench his free hand so hard his fingernails dug crescent moons into the calloused insides of his palms to hold back a sob and the urge to wrench away from the Illyrian female holding his hand. It was a _lways_ someone before him - he was _always_ last, in _everything_ , and he _hated_ the way it made him feel; lost, forgotten, and unwanted. It was as if suddenly, with this prestigious female seeing him in all his pitiful sum, the swelling crush of his disappointing life was suffocating to endure. He felt, rather than saw, the shadows swell underneath his thin filament-bare clothes, soothing his raw inner turmoil as he tried to gain control of his emotions, feeling the wet swell of tears gather at his lashes. He would _not_ break down in front of Lady Night,even as he trembled with the urge to scream that she had been sheltering his _bullies_ and didn’t need her pity - or her kindness - and he wanted to be left alone to his misery.

As if sensing what was going on in his head,  Lady Night suddenly leaned down, ruining her dress in the snow, and curled her arms around his thin shoulders, tugging her against him, burying his face in her shoulder. He was too stunned at her actions to say anything else, going rigid in her grasp. “I knew your mother, and if I had known her only surviving son was here, I would have gone for you sooner,” she murmured, hushing him with a gentle stroke along his back when her words registered, making that painful sob he’d been holding back wrench loose. _She knew his mother? Her only_ **_surviving_ ** _son? What did that mean?  He had more siblings than his two cruel brothers? Did that mean they were dead?_

She held him while he cried, remembering the last time he saw his mother - when he’d been tied to a tree outside and had to sit there and listen while his father abused her, over and over again - and if he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn she knew how miserable his life had been until he’d shown up at this war camp, with no memory of how he got here. “Sh-She w-would n-never tell me her n-name,” he suddenly whispered, his voice hoarse, tongue and lips swollen from his sobs, struggling to form words as continued ripples of his sobs tore from his chest, the very mention of his mother tearing open a wound he hadn’t realized still hadn’t healed. “I never...never knew her name. I n-never got to s-see her l-long, f-father w-wouldn’t…”

Lady Night sighed, leaning back and stroking her thumbs along Azriel’s cheeks, able to look him in the eye now that she was still kneeling on the forest floor, not that he was, still unable to meet her gaze, her free hand still loosely holding onto his shoulders, caring not at all that her beautifully crafted dress was being ruined by mud and melting snow. “Her name was Tanvi. I knew her for a long time, ever since we were children. She…” Lady Night hesitated and Azriel swallowed, glancing up at the sudden somberness in her voice, seeing it reflected in her face. Suddenly, something wretched wrenched in his gut, filling his mouth with bile. _Oh no. No, no no no no..._

“She what?” He prodded her, his eyes going wide. _“What?”_ Part of him knew what she was going to say, by the way the shadows began to whisper to him, but he wasn’t listening to them, ignoring their hums and hisses of concern as they slid underneath his clothes, warming him against the frigid air.  He flicked his free wrist in agitation, trying to get them to calm down so he could focus, keeping his gaze pinned on Lady Night despite their refusal to completely dissipate from around his body. _Father had been in such a rage that night, and I knew he meant to kill me. Why? Why was he so angry? Was it to hide a different, deeper emotion….like despair?_

“She passed over a fortnight ago, in her home,” Lady Night murmured, her tone soft - still kind, despite the sadness that enveloped it now - and he could barely stand at hearing her confirm his suspicions. 

His mother was dead.

Sobbing, he wrenched away from her, even as the shadows roiled now, curling over his shoulders and neck, trying to soothe him as he sobbed harder than ever. Something broke inside him at hearing that - hearing confirmation of what he suspected had sent his father into a rage that eerie winter night. “How?” He asked, standing as tall as he could, ignoring her gasp of surprise at seeing his shadows curling along his skin. “How did she die? Did father do it, or did she? _Tell me!”_

Lady Night swallowed, her eyes darkening, turning even more somber, but she answered his question when he shook his head fiercely and refused to accept the hand she held out for him. “Not until I _know!”_ he reminded her in a harsh scream. He could be punished for taking such a tone with her, but he needed to know.

“You know how your father was, Azriel,” Lady Night whispered softly, her eyes telling him she knew all about his lifestyle before he had arrived here. “She told me what he did...to her...to you. She couldn’t take it anymore, but she asked me to find you and look out for you, so that’s what I am doing. I owe her spirit that much. Now, come with me, so I don’t break a promise to an old friend, alright?”

For some reason, he believed her. He felt desiccated, hollowed out and fragmented at what he had learned, but he took Lady Night’s hand and let her draw him towards the cabin. He was so shell-shocked with what he’d learned that Cassian’s glower didn’t even register to him as she fed them, then turned them into a shared bedroom for the night. 

“I hope you don’t think this means we’re friends, ‘cause we’re not,” grumbled Cassian in what Azriel suspected was his best growl, but the words barely registered. His mother was still dead - _she had taken her own life_ rather than live the abusive one fate had given her -  his father was still a monster, and he may or may not have killed him the night before he had arrived here, knowing his father would have killed him if he'd been able to.

Staring up at the ceiling, he drew the covers close and didn’t know what to think or say, just sat there mutely until Cassian grumbled about him being deaf and turned over in his bedroll to fall asleep.

Tears tracked down his face as he closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Cassian's breathing shift to sleep. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest and his stomach twisted, not used to having a full stomach. By sheer force of will, he didn't get sick, afraid to trespass against the kindness shown to him by Lady Night. Knowing he wouldn't sleep, he reached out for the one source that could help him bring some closure on what happened that last night before he had arrived at the war camp.

 _Yes, dear friend?_ They whispered, caressing the wet tracks on his face, their low hissed words sounding softly concerned, like they were sorrowful he was so distraught. 

 _I want to know what happened that night you saved me,_ he sniffed, wiping at his face. He felt their hesitation, pushing his words to them again, insistent they tell him. _I **need** to know. Did I kill him?  _

The shadows took a while to answer, but it eased the coil of dread that had lodged in his belly since that night when they finally did. _No,_ they eventually whispered, _but he was not left without a remembrance from us for what he did to you._

 _Show me,_ he commanded them, shuddering at what those words meant.

And so they did.

 

* * *

 

**The Mortal Lands, Ephesus, Capital City of Ionia, Alchemist Headquarters**

Ikalis sweated as he worked, feeling the strain on his incantations and concentration as he mixed the oil and charcoal to form his next experiment on the waiting subject bound to the table before him, taking the time to mix the consistency _just so_ before painting the symbols his Master indicated on the body, ignoring the creature’s screams as he did so, faintly enunciating the syllables in the very specific way he’d been told to do so.

He watched as the creature shuddered, thrashing harder, its wails increasing in decibel until he could hardly hear his own words, continuing to chant as he thought back to what his Master had shared with him. Luckily, they were in the bowels of the tower the Queens had allowed them to take over, calling their home, and no one could hear the creature’s screams. He had dismissed the guards hours ago, when they'd delivered and bound what he'd asked for and he finally felt confident enough to try - in the _flesh,_ so to speak - what his Master had taught him before preparing his plans to infiltrate Prythian. If this experiment went well, Ikalis felt that his Master would finally see logic in what he strived for - a sect of powerful equipped humans, laying waste to their enemies before they could once again strike against them during this farce of a treaty.

None of these incantations or rituals were in the sect’s library - not yet, anyway - but if he had any say in it, they w _ould_ be. He understood his Master’s hesitation to share this secret boon, but really...after all their species had endured? It was time to turn the tables on the Fae that had hurt, hunted and enslaved them for centuries and arm themselves with true power against a bloodthirsty enemy that would not hesitate to steep to any level to deceive and conquer them. Thinking of future acolytes with the power to truly defend themselves against the threat of the Fae pulled a small smile to his face as he watched the disgusting Fae creature - a _naga_ , they called it - struggle in its bonds as the ritual reached its end.

The Mortal Queens knew none of this, of course. The sect shared what harmless incantations they could, so the public loved them enough the Queens couldn’t openly protest their involvement in human politics without serious repercussions from the very people they governed, providing wards and protection spells alike, but Ikalis knew - as did his Master - that there was a bigger purpose at play.

The Mortal Queens, like so many others, served their purpose well - governing the humans who couldn’t see the potential to be gained by expanding their knowledge of the magical arts - but unlike the common people, were too avaricious to be allowed a glimpse into the inner circle’s future plans. They’d played their hand badly - and stupidly, too open in their greed, allowing the whole Fae world to see their motivations - when they grew too complicit in Hybern’s promise of immortality and power. Ikalis snorted faintly as he worked, the creature’s shrieks growing louder, knowing what fools the Queens had been to trust a Fae at his word.

The sect would not make those same mistakes. 

Suddenly, the creature stopped thrashing, going deathly still, as the symbols began to glow. The shadows on the walls rioted, frothing, as Ikalis murmured the last few incantations and held his hands splayed wide. Closing his eyes, he _felt it_ with every fiber of his being - the rush of power, the strengthening of his magic, the slow ebb of aches in his body. He felt stronger, faster, and hungry for more.

Opening his eyes, he turned to look in the mirror, watching as the glow left his eyes but his body kept the effects. Flexing his fingers, feeling the power nestled there, he began to laugh. He understood now, what Josias was trying to do, but unlike Josias, _he_ wouldn’t fail.

 

* * *

 

**House of Wind, Velaris**

“Anything?” Feyre asked, watching her sister swallow and place her hand on the cave rubbings, closing her eyes. She noticed the way Elain’s fingers trembled the second they touched the parchment that had rested against the cell wall in the Prison that had held the creature of unknown power and origin that was know their enemy, hating the fear she felt rolling off her sister in waves, but waited patiently for her to say something, ignoring the elongated seconds that felt like hours that passed between them as her sister felt and took in the parchment rubbings.

It wasn’t that she felt good asking her sister to see if she could sense any visions off the paper - or whatever it was her power invoked that the Cauldron gave her - but they were desperate. The High Lord Summit was just a day away and they needed _some_  good news, now that it seemed Azriel and his co-conspirator and mate, Astra, were out of reach in the Mortal Lands, per Morrigan’s latest note. Lucien had surprisingly written them as well, telling them his research was now formally being sponsored and co-anchored by none other than Helion himself, something that had made both her and Rhysand pause and stare at each other knowingly, wondering if something had developed there, since they hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about what they knew, indicating he would be appearing at the next High Lord Summit meeting alongside Day. It felt like time was slipping through their fingers like sand, ticking down to an unforeseeable future that put them both on edge for what it meant for the future for their unborn child and Prythian as a whole.

“It’s just...darkness,” Elain finally spoke, her voice feather-soft, as her hand disconnected from the parchment and she rubbed the offended fingers in the palm of her other hand, frowning and shuddering. “Darkness and greed, mostly. I can only sense that and emotions from whatever was still there. A little anger, too. Whatever it is, I either can’t see anything coming yet, so it could mean the future isn't quite set yet, or it’s powerful enough to not let me see any further than that. Whatever it wants though, it intends for us to...suffer.”

Feyre frowned, glaring at the offending paper and shoving it away, leaning back in her seat and dropping a hand idly to rub it across the growing mound of her stomach. Elain’s eyes flickered down to her belly and a pinched, pained look overcame her face. Feyre frowned once more, tilting her head to the side, about to open her mouth and ask Elain if she was alright - she hadn’t been herself ever since their Court had emptied, everyone gone on missions, leaving her sister only with her, periodic visits from Nesta, and the constant companionship of Cerridwen and Nuala in the townhome Elain called home lately more often than their manse on the river - but suddenly changed her mind, remaining quiet and just studying her. 

A sadness leached from Elain’s eyes, something that Feyre felt helpless against. She didn’t want to see her sister sink into the same deep depression she had when she’d first awoken as Fae, but felt lost for what to do. No matter how much she wanted Elain happy, her sister was in charge of that at the end of the day, and Feyre knew from firsthand experience if she pressed too hard, Elain would simply wither and bury herself deeper into whatever silent torment plagued her inside her head. Idly, she wondered about asking Cerridwen or Nuala if they’d seen or heard anything unusual about Elain since her mood shift, knowing their previous occupation as some of Azriel’s own numbers, but decided not to, feeling it would be seen as a betrayal by her sister. Whenever Elain was ready to talk, she would wait and hear it from her own mouth. 

Just then, she felt him enter the room, well ahead of his flash of darkness and starlight, smiling faintly and looking over her shoulder. She watched Elain stand, muttering something under her breath, leaving the room in a hurry just as Rhysand came to stand beside her, then sink into the chair next to hers, reaching over and resting his hand atop hers, the same one that cradled the growing evidence of their son. 

“I felt her turmoil,” Rhysand mentioned, offering Feyre a faint sad smile. “And her fear of what she saw. I also sensed your concern and wanting to ask the twins if they’ve noticed anything. Before you chastise me, I already sent word. If anyone will be blamed for delving into her private life without permission, it will be me.” He threaded his fingers through hers, kissing the back of her hand before settling their embraced palms back over Feyre’s stomach.

Feyre sighed, frustrated at his interference and yet also thankful, shaking her head. “She’s still reeling I think, from everything. Thank gods she seems over that prick Grayson and all the foul things he said to her, but with Lucien gone now too, I wonder if she’s also taking that as a rejection.” She raised her free hand before Rhysand could comment, feeling his surprise down the bond as he raised both eyebrows. “I know, I’m aware, she rejected him well before he seemed to give up on the bond, but now...I don’t know. I want to help, but I also want her to _want_ help first, so I feel as if my hands are tied.”

“Whatever happens, we will be here for her, you know that. You know as well as I do that this is something she must do herself,” Rhysand murmured, rising from his chair and pulling her alongside him, helping her rise from her own. “For now, let’s get some rest. The meeting is soon and I want my mate and son at full strength. Something tells me it will be grueling enough, sharing what we have to share.”

Feyre nodded, exiting the room with him.

 

* * *

 

**The Mortal Lands, Ephesus, Capital City of Ionia**

“They seem different today, don’t they?” Astra murmured, squinting from where they lingered with other traveling merchants, just outside the gates of the mortal capital, their hoods pulled close to their faces, covering their bodies with shadows where they could, and glamour where they couldn’t. So far, they hadn’t heard outcries for what they were by the surrounding people, so their status as Illryian Fae hadn’t been detected.

Azriel skimmed the group, flicking his gaze towards the etched carvings above the large metal gates - gates that, it seemed, were patrolled and screened for what manner of people were allowed in the city -  something that made Astra nervous the longer she watched the guards process people at the gates, motioning some through and either rejecting or dragging off others. She glanced back to Azriel, remembering he had murmured about Gavriel’s pendant that he carried with them, wondering if it would still allow them to pass muster and seek out his brother in the sanctum of the city’s port, where he ran the front offices of a paper mill that supplied the mage sects and political offices in the city. With any luck, they would be able to use the paper mill’s notoriety as a way into the Alchemist compound, able to bypass whatever wards that were bound to be carved into the building the magicians used.

“The others around us have the same etchings that are able to get inside,” he murmured, keeping a hand pressed against the base of her spine, cradling her gently to his side in a possessive yet caring manner. “As long as we don’t appear nervous, use Gavriel’s contact and the few things Rendon told us to do, we should be fine. Let’s see if we can press a dinner to our new friends in the port, then we can go out tonight and see what we can find.”

 **_I agree with this plan,_ **Bryaxis murmured between them, making Azriel and Astra share a glance. She licked her lips, thinking of their brief interlude in the Inn the other evening, wanting desperately to ask more about this mysterious, powerful male that was her mate and notorious spy, but knew she couldn’t, not until things were more settled and safe for them both.

Nodding, she followed Azriel as they made their way to the gates, lifting her eyes once more to stare at the symbols etched above the gate. Dark memories and nightmares tore at her gut, but she ignored them, threading her fingers through Azriel’s as he smiled and flashed their token - the same that  Gavriel had given them - and started up an amiable discussion between the guards. She was so nervous, she couldn’t do more than smile, blush and nod, when the conversation occasionally included her, making the guards chuckle in what she hoped was the behavior of a submissive and docile wife. Eventually, she was able to breathe again in relief as they were motioned through the gates, given a new token that the guards said would last a fortnight, then prodded forward so the guards could continue their duties.

Once they set foot past the gates, no one screamed at the sudden sight of Illyrian wings, nor did anything spare them more than a glance or two. Still, for some reason her gut suddenly twisted, unease attacking her gut once more. Huddling closer to Azriel, she felt him tug her in the direction of the docks once he gathered directions from a few passerbys, split between knowing they had a duty to their people to finish the job in which they’d been tasked but also wishing they were still back in Illyria, boarded up safely inside her cabin.


End file.
